1^ 


l/f^^ 


^ 


^ 


A 


-v 


THE 


WORKS 


OF 


THE    RIGHT    HONORABLE 


EDMUND    BURKE. 


FIFTH       EDITION 


VOL.      I. 


BOSTON: 
LITTLE,   BROWN,    AND    COMPANY. 

1877. 


Cambridge : 
Press-work  by  John   Wilson  &=  Son. 


J'  I 

CONTENTS    OF    VOL.    I. 


Pag  a 
Advertisement  to  the  Reader,  Prefixed  to  the  First 

Octavo  Edition \ 

Advertisement  to  the  Second  Octavo  Edition        .         xvii 

A  Vindication  of  Natural  Society  :  or,  A  View  of 
the  Miseries  and  Evils  arising  to  Mankind  from 
EVERY  Species  of  Artificial  Society         ...  1 

A  Philosophical  Inqdiry  into  the  Origin  of  our 
Ideas  of  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful;  with  an  In- 
troductory Discourse  concerning  Taste  ...       67 

A  Short  Account  of  a  late  Short  Administration         263 

Observations  on  a  late  Publication,  intituled,  "  The 
Present  State  of  the  Nation  "  .....     269 

Thoughts  on  the  Cause  of  the  Present  Discontents     433 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO    THE    READER* 

rriHE  late  Mr.  Burke,  from  a  principle  of  unaffect^ 
-■-  ed  humility,  which  they  who  were  the  most  in- 
timately acquainted  with  his  character  best  know  to 
have  been  in  his  estimation  one  of  the  most  impor- 
tant moral  duties,  never  himself  made  any  collection 
of  the  various  publications  with  which,  durhig  a 
period  of  forty  years,  he  adorned  and  enriched  the 
literature  of  this  cmmtry.  When,  however,  the  rapid 
and  unexampled  demand  for  his  "  Reflections  on  the 
Revolution  in  France "  had  unequivocally  testified 
his  celebrity  as  a  writer,  some  of  his  friends  so  far 
prevailed  upon  him,  that  he  permitted  them  to  put 
forth  a  regular  edition  of  his  works.  Accordingly, 
three  volumes  in  quarto  appeared  under  that  title  in 
1792,  printed  for  the  late  Mr.  Dodsley.  That  edition, 
therefore,  has  been  made  the  foundation  of  the  pres- 
ent, for  which  a  form  has  been  chosen  better  adapted 
to  public  convenience.  Such  errors  of  the  press  as 
have  been  discovered  in  it  are  here  rectified  :  in  other 

*  Prefixed  to  the  first  octavo  edition  :  London,  F.  and  C.  Rivington, 
1801  :  comprising  Vols.  I.  —  VIII.  of  the  edition  in  sixteen  volumes 
issued  by  these  publishers  at  intervals  between  the  years  1801  and  1827. 


VI  ADVERTISEMENT. 

respects  it  is  faithfully  followed,  except  that  iu  one 
instance  an  accident  of  little  moment  has  occasioned 
a,  slight  deviation  from  the  strict  chronological  ar- 
rangement, and  that,  on  the  other  hand,  a  speech  of 
conspicuous  excellence,  on  his  declining  the  poll  at 
Bristol,  in  1780,  is  here,  for  the  first  time,  inserted, 
in  its  proper  place. 

As  the  activity  of  the  author's  mind,  and  the  lively 
interest  which  he  took  in  the  welfare  of  his  country, 
ceased  only  with  his  life,  many  subsequent  produc- 
tions issued  from  his  pen,  which  were  received  in  a 
manner  corresponding  with  his  distinguished  reputa- 
tion. He  wrote  also  various  tracts,  of  a  less  popular 
description,  which  he  designed  for  private  circulation 
in  quarters  where  he  supposed  they  might  produce 
most  benefit  to  the  community,  but  which,  with  some 
other  papers,  have  been  printed  since  his  death,  from 
copies  which  he  left  behind  him  fairly  transcribed, 
and  most  of  them  corrected  as  for  the  press.  All 
these,  now  first  collected  together,  form  the  contents 
of  the  last  two  volumes.*  They  are  disposed  in  chro- 
nological order,  with  the  exception  of  the  "  Preface 
to  Brissot's  Address,"  whicli  having  appeared  in  the 
author's  lifetime,  and  from  delicacy  not  being  avowed 
by  him,  did  not  come  witliin  the  i)lan  of  this  edition, 
but  has  been  placed  at  the  end  of  tlie  last  volume,  on 
its  being  found  deficient  in  its  just  l)ulk. 

•  Comprising;  tiie  lust  four  papers  of  tlin  fourth  volume,  nnd  the 
wholo  of  the  fifth  volnmo,  of  the  present  edition. 


ADVERTISEMENT.  Vll 

The  several  posthumous  publications,  as  they  from 
time  to  time  made  their  appearance,  were  accom- 
panied by  appropriate  prefaces.  These,  however,  as 
they  were  principally  intended  for  temporary  pur- 
poses, have  been  omitted.  Some  few  explanations 
only,  which  they  contain.ed,  seem  here  to  be  neces- 
sary. 

The  "  Observations  on  the  Conduct  of  the  Minoi- 
ity"  in  the  Session  of  1793  had  been  written  and 
sent  by  Mr.  Burke  as  a  paper  entirely  and  strictly 
confidential ;  but  it  crept  surreptitiously  into  the 
world,  through  the  fraud  and  treachery  of  the  man 
whom  he  had  employed  to  transcribe  it,  and,  as 
usually  happens  in  such  cases,  came  forth  in  a  very 
mangled  state,  under  a  false  title,  and  without  the 
introductory  letter.  The  friends  of  the  author,  with- 
out waiting  to  Cv^nsult  him,  instantly  obtained  an  in- 
junction from  the  Court  of  Chancery  to  stop  the  sale. 
What  he  himself  felt,  on  receiving  intelligence  of  the 
injury  done  him  by  one  from  whom  his  kindness  de- 
served a  very  different  return,  will  be  best  conveyed 
in  his  own  words.  The  following  is  an  extract  of  a 
letter  to  a  friend,  which  he  dictated  on  this  subject 
from  a  sick-bed. 

Bath,  15tli  Feb.,  1797. 

"  My  dear  Laurence,  — 

"  On  the  appearance  of  the  advertisement,  all 
newspapers  and  all  letters  have  been  kept  back 
from  me  till  this  time.     Mrs.  Burke  opened  yours. 


r 
viii  ADVERTISEMENT. 


and  finding  that  all  the  measures  in  the  power 
of  Dr.  King,  yourself,  and  Mr.  Woodford,  had  been 
taken  to  suppress  the  publication,  she  ventured  to 
deliver  me  the  letters  to-day,  which  were  read  to  me 
in  my  bed,  about  two  o'clock. 

"  Tliis  affair  does  vex  me  ;  but  I  am  not  in  a  state 
of  health  at  present  to  be  deeply  vexed  at  anything. 
Whenever  this  matter  comes  into  discussion,  I  au- 
thorize you  to  contradict  the  infamous  reports  which 
(I  am  informed)  have  been  given  out,  that  this 
paper  had  been  circulated  through  the  ministry,  and 
was  intended  gradually  to  slide  into  the  press.  To 
the  best  of  my  recollection  I  never  had  a  clean  copy 
of  it  but  one,  which  is  now  in  my  possession  ;  I  never 
communicated  that,  but  to  the  Duke  of  Portland, 
from  whom  I  had  it  back  again.  But  the  Duke  will 
set  this  matter  to  rights,  if  in  reality  there  were  two 
copies,  and  lie  has  one.  I  never  showed  it,  as  they 
know,  to  any  one  of  the  ministry.  If  the  Duke  has 
really  a  copy,  I  believe  his  and  mine  are  the  only 
ones  that  exist,  except  what  was  taken  by  fraud  from 

loose  and  incorrect  papers  by  S ,  to  whom  I  gave 

the  letter  to  copy.  As  soon  as  I  began  to  suspect 
him  capable  of  any  such  scandalous  breach  of  trust, 
you  know  with  what  anxiety  I  got  the  loose  papers 
out  of  his  hands,  not  liaving  reason  to  think  tliat  he 
kept  any  other.  Neitlier  do  I  believe  in  fact  (unless 
he  meditated  this  villany  long  ago)  that  he  did  or 
does  now  possess  any  clean  copy.     I  never  comniu- 


ADVERTISEMENT.  IX 

nicated  that  paper  to  any  one  out  of  the  very  small 
circle  of  those  private  friends  from  whom  I  con- 
cealed nothing. 

"  But  I  beg-  you  and  my  friends  to  be  cautious  how 
you  let  it  be  understood  that  I  disclaim  anything 
but  the  mere  act  and  intention  of  publication.  I  do 
not  retract  any  onfe  of  the  sentiments  contained  in 
that  memorial,  which  was  and  is  my  justification,  ad- 
dressed to  the  friends  for  whose  use  alone  I  intended 
it.  Had  I  designed  it  for  the  public,  I  should  have 
been  more  exact  and  full.  It  was  written  in  a  tone 
of  indignation,  in  consequence  of  the  resolutions  of 
the  Whig  Club,  which  were  directly  pointed  against 
myself  and  others,  and  occasioned  our  secession  from 
that  club  ;  which  is  the  last  act  of  my  life  that  I  shall 
under  any  circumstances  repent.  Many  tempera- 
ments and  explanations  there  would  have  been,  if  I 
had  ever  had  a  notion  that  it  should  meet  the  public 
eye." 

In  the  mean  time  a  large  impression,  amounting,  it 
is  believed,  to  three  thousand  copies,  had  been  dis- 
persed over  the  country.  To  recall  these  was  im- 
possible ;  to  have  expected  that  any  acknowledged 
production  of  Mr.  Burke,  full  of  matter  likely  to 
interest  the  future  historian,  could  remain  forever 
in  obscurity,  would  have  been  folly ;  and  to  have 
passed  it  over  in  silent  neglect,  on  the  one  hand, 
or,  on  the  other,  to  have  then  made  any  considerable 


X  ADVERTISEMENT. 

changes  iu  it,  might  have  seemed  au  abaudoumeiit  of 
the  principles  whicli  it  contained.  The  author,  there- 
fore, discovering,  that,  with  the  exception  of  the  in- 
troductory letter,  he  had  not  in  fact  kept  any  clean 
copy,  as  he  had  supposed,  corrected  one  of  the  pam- 
pldets  with  his  own  hand.  From  this,  which  was 
found  preserved  with  his  other  papers,  his  friends 
afterwards  thought  it  their  duty  to  give  an  authen- 
tic edition. 

The  "Thoughts  and  Details  on  Scarcity"  were 
originally  presented  in  the  form  of  a  memorial  to 
Mr.  Pitt.  The  author  proposed  afterwards  to  recast 
the  same  matter  in  a  new  shape.  He  even  adver- 
tised the  intended  work  under  the  title  of  "  Let- 
ters on  Rural  Economics,  addressed  to  Mr.  Arthur 
Young";  but  he  seems  to  have  finished  only  two 
or  tliree  detached  fragments  of  tlie  first  letter. 
These  behig  too  imperfect  to  be  printed  alone,  his 
friends  inserted  them  in  the  memorial,  where  they 
seemed  best  to  cohere.  The  memorial  had  been 
fairly  copied,  but  did  not  appear  to  have  been  exam- 
ined or  corrected,  as  some  trifling  errors  of  the  tran- 
scriber were  perceptible  in  it.  The  manuscript  of  the 
fragments  was  a  rough  draft  from  the  author's  own 
liand,  much  blotted  and  very  confused. 

The  Third  Letter  on  the  Proposals  for  Peace  was 
in  its  progress  through  the  press  when  the  autlior 
died.  About  one  half  of  it  was  actually  revised  in 
print  by  himself,  thougli  not  in  the  exact  order  of  the 


ADVERTISEMENT.  XI 

pages  as  they  now  stand.  He  enlarged  his  first  draft, 
and  separated  one  great  member  of  his  subject,  for 
the  purpose  of  introducing  some  other  matter  be- 
tween. The  dififerent  parcels  of  manuscript  designed 
to  intervene  were  discovered.  One  of  them  he  seemed 
to  have  gone  over  himself,  and  to  have  improved  and 
augmented.  The  other  (fortunately  the  smaller)  was 
much  more  imperfect,  just  as  it  was  taken  from  his 
mouth  by  dictation.  The  former  reaches  from  the 
two  hundred  and  forty-sixth  to  near  the  end  of  the 
two  hundred  and  sixty-second  page  ;  the  latter  nearly 
occupies  the  twelve  pages  which  follow.*  No  impor- 
tant change,  none  at  all  affecting  the  meaning  of  any 
passage,  has  been  made  in  either,  though  in  the  more 
imperfect  parcel  some  latitude  of  discretion  in  subor- 
dinate points  was  necessarily  used. 

There  is,  however,  a  considerable  member  for  the 
greater  part  of  which  Mr.  Burke's  reputation  is  not 
responsible :  this  is  the  inquiry  into  the  condition  of 
the  higher  classes,  which  commences  in  the  two  hun- 
dred and  ninety-fifth  page.f  The  summary  of  the 
whole  topic,  indeed,  nearly  as  it  stands  in  the  three 
hundred   and  seventy-third  and  fourth  pages,^  was 

*  The  former  comprising  the  matter  included  between  the  para- 
graph commencing,  "  I  hear  it  has  been  said,"  &c.,  and  that  ending 
with  the  words,  "  there  were  little  or  no  materials  " ;  and  the  latter 
extending  through  the  paragraph  concluding  with  the  words,  "dis- 
graced and  plagued  mankind." 

t  At  the  paragraph  commencing  with  the  words,  "  In  turning  our 
view  from  the  lower  to  the  higher  classes,"  &c. 

t  In  the  first  half  of-  the  paragraph  commencing,  "  If,  then,  the  real 
state  of  this  nation,"  &c. 


XU  ADVERTISEMENT. 

found,  together  with  a  marginal  reference  to  the 
Bankrupt  List,  in  his  own  handwriting;  and  the 
actual  conclusion  of  the  Letter  was  dictated  by  him, 
but  never  received  his  subsequent  correction.  He 
had  also  preserved,  as  materials  for  this  branch  of  his 
subject,  some  scattered  hints,  documents,  and  parts 
of  a  correspondence  on  the  state  of  the  country.  He 
was,  however,  prevented  from  working  on  them  by 
the  want  of  some  authentic  and  official  information, 
for  which  he  had  been  long  anxiously  waiting,  in 
order  to  ascertain,  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  public, 
what,  with  his  usual  sagacity,  ho  had  fully  antici- 
pated from  his  own  personal  observation,  to  his  own 
private  conviction.  At  length  the  reports  of  the  dif- 
ferent committees  which  liad  been  appointed  by  the 
two  Houses  of  Parliament  amply  furnished  him  with 
evidence  for  this  purpose.  Accordingly  he  read  and 
considered  them  with  attention :  but  for  anything 
beyond  this  the  season  was  now  past.  The  Supreme 
Disposer  of  All,  against  whose  inscrutable  counsels  it 
is  vain  as  well  as  impious  to  murmur,  did  not  permit 
him  to  enter  on  the  execution  of  the  task  which  lie 
meditated.  It  was  resolved,  therefore,  by  one  of  his 
friends,  after  much  hesitation,  and  under  a  very  pain- 
ful responsibility,  to  make  such  an  attempt  as  lie  could 
at  supplying  the  void  ;  especially  because  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  our  resources  for  the  continuance  of  the  war 
was  understood  to  have  been  the  principal  objection 
urged  against  tlio  two  former  Letters  on  the  Proj)Osals 


ADVERTISEMENT.  XUl 

for  Peace.  In  performing  with  reverential  diffidence 
this  duty  of  friendship,  care  has  been  taken  not  to 
attribute  to  Mr.  Burke  any  sentiment  which  is  not 
most  explicitly  known,  from  repeated  conversations, 
and  from  much  correspondence,  to  have  been  decid- 
edly entertained  by  that  illustrious  man.  One  pas- 
sage of  nearly  three  pages,  containing  a  censure  of 
our  defensive  system,  is  borrowed  from  a  private  let- 
ter, which  he  began  to  dictate  with  an  intention  of 
comprising  in  it  the  short  result  of  his  opinions,  but 
which  he  afterwards  abandoned,  when,  a  little  time 
before  his  death,  his  health  appeared  in  some  degree 
to  amend,  and  he  hoped  that  Providence  might  have 
spared  him  at  least  to  complete  the  larger  public  let- 
ter, which  he  then  proposed  to  resume.* 

In  the  preface  to  the  former  edition  of  this  Letter 
a  fourth  was  mentioned  as  being  in  possession  of  Mr. 
Burke's  friends.  It  was  in  fact  announced  by  the 
author  himself,  in  the  conclusion  of  the  second,  which 
it  was  then  designed  to  follow.  He  intended,  he  said, 
to  proceed  next  on  the  question  of  the  facilities  pos- 
sessed by  the  French  Republic, /rom  the  internal  state 
of  other  nations,  and  particularly  of  this,  for  obtaining 
her  ends,  —  and  as  his  notions  were  controverted,  to 
take  notice  of  what,  in  that  way,  had  been  recom- 
mended to  him.  The  vehicle  which  he  had  chosen 
for  this  part  of  his  plan  was  an  answer  to  a  pamphlet 
which  was  supposed  to  come  from  high  authority,  and 
was  circulated  by  ministers  with  great  industry,  at  the 


XIV  ADVERTISEMENT. 

nme  of  its  appearance,  in  October,  1795,  immediately 
previous  to  that  session  of  Parliament  when  his  Ma- 
jesty for  the  first  time  declared  that  the  appearance 
of  any  disposition  in  the  enemy  to  negotiate  for  gen- 
eral peace  should  not  fail  to  be  met  with  an  earnest 
desire  to  give  it  the  fullest  and  speediest  efiect.  In 
truth,  the  answer,  which  is  full  of  spirit  and  \ivacity, 
was  written  the  latter  end  of  the  same  year,  but 
was  laid  aside  when  the  question  assumed  a  more 
serious  aspect,  from  the  commencement  of  an  actual 
negotiation,  which  gave  rise  to  the  series  of  printed 
letters.  Afterwards,  he  began  to  rewrite  it,  with  a 
view  of  accommodating  it  to  his  new  purpose.  The 
greater  part,  however,  still  remained  in  its  original 
state ;  and  several  heroes  of  the  Revolution,  who  are 
there  celebrated,  having  in  the  interval  passed  off  the 
public  stage,  a  greater  liberty  of  insertion  and  altera- 
tion than  his  friends  on  consideration  have  thous>ht 
allowable  would  be  necessary  to  adapt  it  to  that 
place  in  the  series  for  which  it  was  ultimately  de- 
signed by  the  author.  Tliis  piece,  therefore,  ad- 
dressed, as  the  title  orighially  stood,  to  his  noble 
friend.  Earl  Fitzwilliam,  will  be  given  the  first  in  the 
supj)lemcntal  volumes  which  will  bo  hereafter  added 
to  complete  this  edition  of  the  author's  works. 

The  tracts,  most  of  them  in  manuscript,  which  have 
been  already  selected  as  fit  for  this  })urposo,  will 
prol)iil)]y  furnish  four  or  five  volumes  more,  to  bo 
printed  uniformly  wiMi  this  edition.     The  principal 


ADVERTISEMENT.  XV 

piece  is  an  Essay  on  the  History  of  England,  from  the 
earliest  period  to  the  conclusion  of  the  reign  of  King 
John.  It  is  written  with  much  depth  of  antiquarian 
research,  directed  by  the  mind  of  an  intelligent  states- 
man. This  alone,  as  far  as  can  be  conjectured,  will 
form  more  than  one  volume.  Another  entire  volume 
also,  at  least,  will  be  filled  with  his  letters  to  public 
men  on  public  affairs,  especially  those  of  France. 
This  supplement  will  be  sent  to  the  press  without 
delay. 

Mr.  Burke's  more  familiar  correspondence  will  be 
reserved  as  authorities  to  accompany  a  narrative  of 
his  life,  which  will  conclude  the  whole.  The  period 
during  which  he  flourished  was  one  of  the  most  mem- 
orable of  our  annals.  It  comprehended  the  acquisi- 
tion of  one  empire  in  the  East,  the  loss  of  another  in 
the  West,  and  the  total  subversion  of  the  ancient  sys- 
tem of  Europe  by  the  French  Revolution,  with  all 
which  events  the  history  of  his  life  is  necessarily  and 
intimately  connected,  —  as  indeed  it  also  is,  much 
more  than  is  generally  known,  with  the  state  of  liter- 
ature and  the  elegant  arts.  Such  a  subject  of  biog- 
raphy cannot  be  dismissed  with  a  slight  and  rapid 
touch ;  nor  can  it  be  treated  in  a  manner  worthy  of 
it,  from  the  information,  however  authentic  and  ex- 
tensive, which  the  industry  of  any  one  man  may  have 
accumulated.  Many  important  communications  have 
been  received ;  but  some  materials,  which  relate  to 
the  pursuits  of  his  early  years,  and  which  are  known 


XVI  ADVERTISEMENT. 

to  be  in  existence,  have  been  hitherto  kept  back,  not- 
withstanding repeated  inquiries  and  applications.  It 
is,  therefore,  once  more  earnestly  requested,  that  all 
persons  who  call  themselves  the  friends  or  admirers 
of  the  late  Edmund  Burke  will  have  the  goodness  to 
transmit,  without  delay,  any  notices  of  that  or  of  any 
other  kind  which  may  happen  to  be  in  their  posses- 
sion or  within  their  reach,  to  Messrs.  Rivingtons,  —  a 
respect  and  kindness  to  his  memory  which  will  be 
thankfully  acknowledged  by  those  friends  to  whom, 
in  dying,  he  committed  the  sacred  trust  of  his  reputa- 
tion. 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO  THE   SECOND   OCTAVO  EDITION* 

ANEW  edition  of  the  works  of  Mr.  Burke  having 
been  called  for  by  the  public,  the  opportunity- 
has  been  taken  to  make  some  slight  changes,  it  is 
hoped  for  the  better. 

A  different  distribution  of  the  contents,  while  it  has 
made  the  volumes,  with  the  exception  of  the  first  and 
sixth,  more  nearly  equal  in  their  respective  bulk,  has, 
at  the  same  time,  been  fortunately  found  to  produce 
a  more  methodical  arrangement  of  the  whole.  The 
first  and  second  volumes,  as  before,  severally  contain 
those  literary  and  philosophical  works  by  which  Mr. 
Burke  was  known  previous  to  the  commencement  of 
his  public  life  as  a  statesman,  and  the  political  pieces 
which  were  written  by  him  between  the  time  of  his 
first  becoming  connected  with  the  Marquis  of  Rock- 
ingham and  his  being  chosen  member  for  Bristol. 
In  the  tliird  are  comprehended  all  his  speeches  and 
pamphlets  from  his  first  arrival  at  Bristol,  as  a  can- 
didate, in  the  year  1774,  to  his  farewell  address 
from  the  hustings  of  that  city,  in  the   year   1780. 

*  London,  F.  and  C.  Rivington,  1803.     8  vols. 
TOI..  I.  B 


S.V1II  ADVERTISEMENT. 

What  he  himself  published  relative  to  the  affairs  of 
India  occupies  the  fourth  volume.  The  remaiuing 
four  comprise  his  works  since  the  French  Revolution, 
with  the  exception  of  the  Letter  to  Lord  Kenmare  on 
the  Penal  Laws  against  Irish  Catholics,  which  was 
probably  inserted  where  it  stands  from  its  relation  to 
the  subject  of  the  Letter  addressed  by  him,  at  a  later 
period,  to  Sir  Hercules  Langrishe.  With  the  same 
exception,  too,  strict  regard  has  been  paid  to  chrono- 
logical order,  which,  in  the  last  edition,  was  in  some 
instances  broken,  to  insert  pieces  that  were  not  dis- 
covered till  it  was  too  late  to  introduce  them  in  their 
proper  places. 

In  the  Appendix  to  the  Speech  on  the  Nabob  of 
Arcot's  Debts  the  references  were  found  to  be  con- 
fused, and,  in  many  places,  erroneous.  This  proba- 
bly had  arisen  from  the  circumstance  that  a  larger 
and  differently  constructed  appendix  seems  to  have 
been  originally  designed  by  Mr.  Burke,  which,  how- 
ever, he  afterwards  abridged  and  altered,  while  the 
speech  and  the  notes  upon  it  remahied  as  tliey  were. 
The  text  and  the  documents  that  support  it  have 
throughout  been  accommodated  to  each  other. 

The  orthography  has  been  in  many  cases  altered, 
and  an  attempt  made  to  reduce  it  to  some  certain 
standard.  The  rule  laid  down  for  the  discharge  of 
this  task  was,  that,«whcncvcr  Mr,  Burke  could  bo  per- 
ceived to  have  been  uniform  in  liis  mode  of  spelling, 
that  was  considered  as  decisive  ;  but  where  he  varied, 


ADVERTISEMENT.  XIX 

(and  as  he  was  in  the  habit  of  writing  by  dictation, 
ajid  leaving  to  others  the  superintendence  of  tlie 
press,  he  was  peculiarly  liable  to  variations  of  this 
sort)  the  best  received  authorities  were  directed  to  be 
followed.  The  reader,  it  is  trusted,  will  find  this  ob- 
ject, too  much  disregarded  in  modern  books,  has  here 
been  kept  in  view  throughout.  The  quotations  which 
are  interspersed  through  the  works  of  Mr  Burke,  and 
which  were  frequently  made  by  him  from  memory, 
have  been  generally  compared  with  the  original  au- 
thors. Several  mistakes  in  printing,  of  one  word  for 
another,  by  which  the  sense  was  either  perverted  or 
obscured,  are  now  rectified.  Two  or  three  small  in- 
sertions have  also  been  made  from  a  quarto  copy  cor- 
rected by  Mr.  Burke  himself.  From  the  same  source 
something  more  has  been  drawn  in  the  shape  of  notes, 
to  which  are  subscribed  his  initials.  Of  this  number 
is  the  explanation  of  that  celebrated  phrase,  "  the 
swinish  multitude  "  :  an  explanation  which  was  uni- 
formly given  by  him  to  his  friends,  in  conversation 
on  the  subject.  But  another  note  will  probably  inter- 
est the  reader  still  more,  as  being  strongly  expressive 
of  that  parental  affection  which  formed  so  amiable  a 
feature  in  the  character  of  Mr.  Burke.  It  is  in  page 
208  of  Vol.  v.,  where  he  points  out  a  considerable 
passage  as  having  been  supplied  by  his  "  lost  son."  * 
Several  other  parts,  possibly  amounting  altogether  to 

*  In  "  Reflections  on  the  Revolution  in  France,"  —  indicated  by 
foot-note  in  loco. 


XX  ADVERTISEMENT. 

a  page  or  thereabout,  were  indicated  in  the  same 
manner ;  but,  as  they  in  general  consist  of  single  sen- 
tences, and  as  the  meanmg  of  the  mark  by  which  they 
were  distinguished  was  not  actually  expressed,  it  has 
not  been  thought  necessary  to  notice  them  particu- 
larly. 


VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY: 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  MISERIES  AND  EVILS  AEISING  TO  MANKIND 
FROM  EVERY   SPECIES    OF   ARTIFICIAL   SOCIETY. 

IN   A   LETTER   TO   LORD  ****, 

BT  A   LATE  NOBLE   WRITEE, 
1756. 


PREFACE. 

V 

BEFORE  the  philosophical  works  of  Lord  Boling- 
broke  had  appeared,  great  things  were  expected 
from  the  leisure  of  a  man,  who,  from  the  splendid 
scene  of  action  in  which  his  talents  had  enabled  him 
to  make  so  conspicuous  a  figure,  had  retired  to  em- 
ploy those  talents  in  the  investigation  of  truth.  Phi- 
losophy began  to  congratulate  herself  upon  such  a 
proselyte  from  the  world  of  business,  and  hoped  to 
have  extended  her  power  under  the  auspices  of 
such  a  leader.  In  the  midst  of  these  pleasing  ex- 
pectations, the  works  themselves  at  last  appeared  in 
full  body,  and  with  great  pomp.  Those  who  searched 
in  them  for  new  discoveries  in  the  mysteries  of  na- 
ture ;  those  who  expected  something  which  might 
explain  or  direct  the  operations  of  the  mind  ;  those 
who  hoped  to  see  morality  illustrated  and  enfcTced ; 
those  who  looked  for  new  helps  to  society  and  gov- 
ernment ;  those  who  desired  to  see  the  characters 
and  passions  of  mankind  delineated  ;  in  short,  all 
who  consider  such  things  as  philosophy,  and  re- 
quire some  of  them  at  least  in  every  philosophical 
work,  all  these  were  certainly  disappointed  ;  they 
found  the  landmarks  of  science  precisely  in  their 
former  places  :  and  they  thouglit  they  received  but 
a  poor  recompense  for  this  disappointment,  in  seeing 
every  mode  of  religion  attacked  in  a  lively  manner, 


4  PREFACE. 

and  the  foundation  of  every  virtue,  and  of  all  gov- 
ernment, sapped  with  great  art  and  much  ingenuity. 
What  advantage  do  we  derive  from  such  writings  ? 
What  delight  can  a  man  find  in  employing  a  ca- 
pacity which  might  be  usefully  exerted  for  the  no- 
blest purposes,  in  a  sort  of  sullen  labor,  in  which,  if 
the  author  could  succeed,  he  is  obliged  to  own,  that 
nothing  could  be  more  fatal  to  mankind  than  his 
success  ? 

I  cannot  conceive  how  this  sort  of  writers  propose 
to  compass  the  designs  they  pretend  to  have  in  view, 
by  the  instruments  which  they  employ.  Do  they 
pretend  to  exalt  the  mind  of  man,  by  proving  him 
no  better  than  a  beast  ?  Do  they  think  to  enforce 
the  practice  of  virtue,  by  denying  that  vice  and  vir- 
tue are  distinguished  by  good  or  ill  fortune  here,  or 
by  happiness  or  misery  hereafter?  Do  they  imag- 
ine they  shall  increase  our  piety,  and  our  reliance 
on  God,  by  exploding  his  providence,  and  insisting 
that  he  is  neitlier  just  nor  good  ?  Such  are  the  doc 
trines  which,  sometimes  concealed,  sometimes  openly 
and  fully  avowed,  are  found  to  prevail  throughout  the 
writings  of  Lord  Bolingbroke ;  and  such  are  the  rea- 
sonings which  this  noble  writer  and  several  otliers 
have  been  pleased  to  dignify  Avith  tlie  name  of  philos- 
ophy. If  these  are  delivered  in  a  specious  manner, 
and  in  a  style  above  the  common,  they  cannot  want  a 
number  of  admirers  of  as  much  docility  as  can  bo 
wished  for  in  disciples.  To  these  the  editor  of  the 
following  little  piece  has  addressed  it :  there  is  no 
reason  to  conceal  the  design  of  it  any  longer. 

The  design  was  to  show  that,  withont  tiie  exertion 
of  any  consid(;ral)lo  forces,  the  same  engines  which 
were  employed  for  the  destruction  of  religion,  might 


PREFACE.  5 

be  employed  with  equal  success  for  the  subversion  of 
government ;  and  that  specious  arguments  might  be 
used  against  tliose  things  which  they,  who  doubt  of 
everything  else,  will  never  permit  to  be  questioned. 
It  is  an  observation  which  I  think  Isocrates  makes  in 
one  of  his  orations  against  the  sophists,  that  it  is  far 
more  easy  to  maintain  a  wrong  cause,  and  to  support 
paradoxical  opinions  to  the  satisfaction  of  a  common 
auditory,  than  to  establish  a  doubtful  truth  by  solid 
and  conclusive  arguments.  Wiien  men  find  that 
something  can  be  said  in  favor  of  what,  on  the  very 
proposal,  they  have  thought  utterly  indefensible, 
they  grow  doubtful  of  their  own  reason  ;  they  are 
thrown  into  a  sort  of  pleasing  surprise  ;  they  run 
along  with  the  speaker,  charmed  and  captivated  to 
find  such  a  plentiful  harvest  of  reasoning,  where  all 
seemed  barren  and  unpromising.  This  is  the  fairy 
land  of  philosophy.  And  it  very  frequently  hap- 
pens, that  those  pleasing  impressions  on  the  imagi- 
nation subsist  and  produce  tlieir  effect,  even  after  the 
understanding  has  been  satisfied  of  their  unsubstan- 
tial nature.  There  is  a  sort  of  gloss  upon  ingenious 
falsehoods  that  dazzles  the  imagination,  but  which 
neitlier  belongs  to,  nor  becomes  the  sober  aspect  of 
truth.  I  have  met  with  a  quotation  in  Lord  Coke's 
Reports  tliat  pleased  me  very  much,  though  I  do  not 
know  from  whence  he  has  taken  it:  '•'■  Interdum  fucata 
falsita8  (says  he),  in  multis  est  probahilior,  et  soepe  ra^ 
tionibus  vincit  nudam  veritateni.'"  In  such  cases  tlie 
writer  has  a  certain  fire  and  alacrity  inspired  into 
him  by  a  consciousness,  that,  let  it  fare  how  it  will 
with  the  subject,  his  ingenuity  will  be  sure  of  ap- 
plause ;  and  tliis  alacrity  becomes  much  greater  if 
he  acts  upon  the  offensive,  by  the  impetuosity  that 


6  PREFACE. 

always  accompanies  an  attack,  and  the  unfortunate 
propensity  which  mankind  have  to  the  finding  and 
exaggerating  faults.  The  editor  is  satisfied  that  a 
mind  which  has  no  restraint  from  a  sense  of  its  own 
weakness,  of  its  subordinate  rank  in  the  creation, 
and  of  the  extreme  danger  of  letting  the  imagination 
loose  upon  some  subjects,  may  very  plausibly  attack 
everything  the  most  excellent  and  venerable  ;  that 
it  would  not  be  difficult  to  criticise  the  creation  it- 
self ;  and  that  if  we  were  to  examine  the  divine  fab- 
rics by  our  ideas  of  reason  and  fitness,  and  to  use 
the  same  method  of  attack  by  which  some  men  have 
assaulted  revealed  religion,  we  might  with  as  good 
color,  and  with  the  same  success,  make  the  wisdom 
and  power  of  God  in  his  creation  appear  to  many  no 
better  than  foolishness.  There  is  an  air  of  plausi- 
bility which  accompanies  vulgar  reasonings  and 
notions,  taken  from  the  beaten  circle  of  ordinary 
experience,  that  is  admirably  suited  to  the  narrow 
capacities  of  some,  and  to  the  laziness  of  others.  But 
this  advantage  is  in  a  great  measure  lost,  when  a 
painful,  comprehensive  survey  of  a  very  complicated 
matter,  and  which  requires  a  great  variety  of  consid- 
erations, is  to  be  made  ;  when  we  must  seek  in  a  pro- 
found subject,  not  only  for  arguments,  but  for  new 
materials  of  argument,  their  measures  and  their 
method  of  arrangement ;  when  we  must  go  out  of 
the  sphere  of  our  ordinary  ideas,  and  when  wo  can 
never  walk  surely,  but  by  being  sensible  of  our  blind- 
ness. And  this  we  must  do,  or  we  do  nothing,  when- 
ever we  examine  the  result  of  a  reason  which  is  not 
our  own.  Even  in  matters  wliich  are,  as  it  were, 
just  within  our  reach,  what  would  become  of  tlie 
world,  if  tlio  practice  of  all   moral  duties,  and  the 


\ 


PREFACE.  7 

foundations  of  society,  rested  upon  having  their  rea- 
sons made  clear  and  demonstrative  to  every  indi- 
vidual ? 

The  editor  knows  that  the  subject  of  this  letter  is 
not  so  fully  handled  as  obviously  it  might;  it  was 
not  his  design  to  say  all  that  could  possibly  be 
said.  It  had  been  inexcusable  to  fill  a  large  vol- 
ume with  the  abuse  of  reason  ;  nor  would  such  an 
abuse  have  been  tolerable,  even  for  a  few  pages,  if 
some  under-plot,  of  more  consequence  than  the  ap- 
parent design,  had  not  been  carried  on. 

Some  persons  have  thought  that  the  advantages  of 
the  state  of  nature  ought  to  have  been  more  fully 
displayed.  This  had  undoubtedly  been  a  very  ample 
subject  for  declamation  ;  but  they  do  not  consider  the 
character  of  the  piece.  The  writers  against  religion, 
whilst  they  oppose  every  system,  are  wisely  careful 
never  to  set  up  any  of  their  own.  If  some  inaccu- 
racies in  calculation,  in  reasoning,  or  in  method,  be 
found,  perhaps  these  will  not  be  looked  upon  as 
faults  by  the  admirers  of  Lord  Bolmgbroke  ;  who 
will,  the  editor  is  afraid,  observe  much  more  of  his 
lordship's  character  in  such  particulars  of  the  follow- 
ing letter,  than  they  are  likely  to  find  of  that  rapid 
torrent  of  an  impetuous  and  overbearing  eloquence, 
and  the  variety  of  rich  imagery  for  which  that  writer 
is  justly  admired. 


A  LETTER  TO   LORD  ****. 


SHALL  I  venture  to  say,  my  lord,  that  in  our 
late  conversation,  you  were  inclined  to  the 
party  which  you  adopted  rather  by  the  feelings  of 
your  good  nature,  than  by  the  conviction  of  your 
judgment  ?  We  laid  open  the  foundations  of  soci- 
ety ;  and  you  feared  that  the  curiosity  of  this  search 
might  endanger  the  ruin  of  the  whole  fabric.  You 
would  readily  have  allowed  my  principle,  but  you 
dreaded  the  consequences  ;  you  thought,  that  having 
once  entered  upon  these  reasonings,  we  might  be  car- 
ried insensibly  and  irresistibly  farther  than  at  first 
we  could  either  have  imagined  or  wished.  But  for 
my  part,  my  lord,  I  then  thought,  and  am  still  of  the 
same  opinion,  that  error,  and  not  truth  of  any  kind, 
is  dangerous ;  that  ill  conclusions  can  only  flow  from 
false  propositions ;  and  that,  to  know  whether  any 
proposition  be  true  or  false,  it  is  a  preposterous 
method  to  examine  it  by  its  apparent  consequences. 
These  were  the  reasons  which  induced  me  to  go  so 
far  into  that  inquiry  ;  and  they  are  the  reasons  which 
direct  me  in  all  my  inquiries.  I  had  indeed  often 
reflected  on  that  subject  before  I  could  prevail  on 
myself  to  communicate  my  reflections  to  anybody. 
They  were  generally  melancholy  enough ;  as  those 
usually  are  wliich  carry  us  beyond  the  mere  surface 
of  things  ;  and  which  would  undoubtedly  make  the 


10  A   VINDICATION   OF  NATUKAL   SOCIETY. 

lives  of  all  thinking  men  extremely  miserable,  if  the 
same  philosophy  which  caused  the  grief,  did  not  at 
the  same  time  administer  the  comfort. 

On  considering  political  societies,  their  origin,  their 
constitution,  and  their  effects,  I  have  sometimes  been 
in  a  good  deal  more  than  doubt,  whether  the  Creator 
did  ever  really  intend  man  for  a  state  of  happiness. 
He  has  mixed  in  his  cup  a  number  of  natural  evils, 
(in  spite  of  the  boasts  of  stoicism  they  are  evils,)  and 
every  endeavor  which  the  art  and  policy  of  mankind 
has  used  from  the  beginning  of  the  world  to  this  day, 
in  order  to  alleviate  or  cure  them,  has  only  served  to 
introduce  new  mischiefs,  or  to  aggravate  and  inflame 
the  old.  Besides  this,  the  mind  of  man  itself  is  too 
active  and  restless  a  principle  ever  to  settle  on  the 
true  point  of  quiet.  It  discovers  every  day  some 
craving  want  in  a  body,  which  really  wants  but  lit- 
tle. It  every  day  invents  some  new  artificial  rule  to 
guide  that  nature  which,  if  left  to  itself,  were  the  best 
and  surest  guide.  It  finds  out  imaginary  beings  pre- 
scril)ing  imaginary  laws ;  and  then,  it  raises  imagi- 
nary terrors  to  support  a  belief  in  the  beings,  and  an 
ol)cdience  to  the  laws.  —  Many  things  have  been 
said,  and  very  well  undoubtedly,  on  the  subjection 
in  which  we  should  preserve  our  bodies  to  the  gov- 
ernment of  our  understanding ;  but  enough  has  not 
been  said  upon  the  restraint  which  our  bodily  neces- 
sities ought  to  lay  on  the  extravagant  sublimities  and 
eccentric  rovings  of  our  minds.  Tlie  body,  or  as 
some  love  to  call  it,  our  inl'crioi-  nature,  is  wiser 
in  its  own  plain  way,  and  ntt(Mids  its  own  business 
more  directly  than  the  mind  with  all  its  boasted  sub- 
tlety. 

In  the  state  of  nature,  witho\it  question,  mankind 


A   VINDICATION   OF  NATURAL   SOCIETY.  11 

was  subjected  to  many  and  great  inconveniences. 
Want  of  union,  want  of  mutual  assistance,  want  of  a 
common  arbitrator  to  resort  to  in  their  differences. 
These  were  evils  which  they  could  not  but  have  felt 
pretty  severely  on  many  occasions.  The  original 
children  of  the  earth  lived  with  their  brethren  of  the 
other  kinds  in  much  equality.  Their  diet  must  have 
been  confined  almost  wholly  to  the  vegetable  kind  ; 
and  the  same  tree,  which  in  its  flourishing  state  pro- 
duced them  berries,  in  its  decay  gave  them  an  hab- 
itation. The  mutual  desires  of  the  sexes  uniting 
their  bodies  and  affections,  and  the  children  which 
are  the  results  of  these  intercourses,  introduced  first 
the  notion  of  society,  and  taught  its  conveniences. 
This  society,  founded  in  natural  appetites  and  in 
stincts,  and  not  in  any  positive  institution,  I  shall 
call  natural  society.  Thus  far  nature  went  and  suc- 
ceeded :  but  man  would  go  farther.  The  great  error 
of  our  nature  is,  not  to  know  where  to  stop,  not  to  be 
satisfied  with  any  reasonable  acquirement ;  not  to 
compoimd  with  our  condition  ;  but  to  lose  all  we 
have  gained  by  an  insatiable  pursuit  after  more. 
Man  found  a  considerable  advantage  by  this  union 
of  many  persons  to  form  one  family  ;  he  therefore 
judged  that  he  would  find  his  account  proportion- 
ably  in  an  union  of  many  families  into  one  body  poli- 
tic. And  as  nature  has  formed  no  bond  of  union  to 
hold  them  together,  he  supplied  this  defect  by  laivs. 

This  is  political  society.  And  hence  the  sources  of 
what  are  usually  called  states,  civil  societies,  or  gov- 
ernments ;  into  some  form  of  which,  more  extended 
or  restrained,  all  mankind  have  gradually  fallen. 
And  since  it  has  so  happened,  and  that  we  owe  an 
implicit  reverence  to  all  the  ingtitutions  of  our  ances- 


12  A   VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

tors,  we  shall  consider  these  institutions  with  all  that 
modesty  with  which  we  ought  to  co)iduct  ourselves 
in  examining  a  received  opinion ;  but  with  all  that 
freedom  and  candor  which  we  owe  to  truth  wherever 
we  find  it,  or  however  it  may  contradict  our  own 
notions,  or  oppose  our  own  interests.  There  is  a 
most  absurd  and  audacious  metliod  of  reasoning 
avowed  by  some  bigots  and  enthusiasts,  and  through 
fear  assented  to  by  some  wiser  and  l)ctter  men  ;  it  is 
this  :  they  argue  against  a  fair  discussion  of  popular 
prejudices,  because,  say  they,  though  they  would  be 
found  without  any  reasonable  support,  yet  the  dis- 
covery might  be  productive  of  the  most  dangerous 
consequences.  Absurd  and  blasphemous  notion  !  as 
if  all  ha{)piness  was  not  connected  with  the  practice 
of  virtue,  whicli  necessarily  depends  upon  the  knowl- 
edge of  truth ;  that  is,  upon  the  knowledge  of  those 
unalterable  relations  which  Pro\idence  has  ordained 
tbat  every  thing  should  bear  to  every  otlier.  These 
relations,  which  are  truth  itself,  the  foundation  of 
virtue,  and  consequently  the  only  measures  of  happi- 
ness, should  be  likewise  the  only  measures  by  wliich 
we  should  direct  our  reasoning.  To  these  we  should 
conform  in  good  earnest;  and  not  think  to  force  na- 
ture, and  the  whole,  order  of  her  system,  by  a  compli- 
ance with  our  pride  and  folly,  to  conform  to  our  arti- 
ficial regulations.  It  is  by  a  conformity  to  tliis 
method  we  owe  the  discovery  of  Jln'  low  trnths  we 
know,  and  the  little  liberty  and  rational  liaj^piness 
we  enjoy.  Wc  have  something  fairor  j>lay  than  a 
rcasoner  could  have  expected  formerly  ;  and  we  de- 
rive advantages  fi-om  it  which  are  very  visible. 

The  fal)ric  of  superstition  has  in  this  our  age  and 
nation  received  much  ruder  shocks  than  it  had  ever 


A    VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  13 

felt  before  ;  and  through  the  chinks  aud  breaches  of 
our  prison,  we  see  such  glimmerings  of  light,  and 
feel  such  refreshing  airs  of  liberty,  as  daily  raise  our 
ardor  for  more.  The  miseries  derived  to  mankind 
from  superstition  under  the  name  of  religion,  and  of 
ecclesiastical  tyranny  under, the  name  of  church  gov- 
ernment, have  been  clearly  and  usefully  exposed. 
We  begin  to  think  and  to  act  from  reason  and  from 
nature  alone.  Tliis  is  true  of  several,  but  by  far  the 
majority  is  still  in  the  same  old  state  of  blindness 
and  slavery ;  and  nuich  is  it  to  be  feared  that  we 
shall  perpetually  relapse,  whilst  the  real  productive 
cause  of  all  this  superstitious  folly,  enthusiastical 
nonsense,  and  holy  tyranny,  holds  a  reverend  place 
in  the  estimation  even  of  those  who  are  otherTvdse 
enlightened. 

Civil  government  borrows  a  strength  from  ecclesi- 
astical ;  and  artificial  laws  receive  a  sanction  from 
artificial  revelations.  The  ideas  of  religion  and 
government  are  closely  connected  ;  and  whilst  we  re- 
ceive government  as  a  thing  necessary,  or  even  use- 
ful to  our  well-being,  we  shall  in  spite  of  us  draw  in, 
as  a  necessary,  though  undesirable  consequence,  an 
artificial  religion  of  some  kind  or  other.  To  this  the 
vulgar  will  always  be  voluntary  slaves ;  and  even 
those  of  a  rank  of  understanding  superior,  will  now 
and  then  involuntarily  feel  its  influence.  It  is  there- 
fore of  the  deepest  concernment  to  us  to  be  set  right  in 
this  point ;  and  to  be  well  satisfied  whether  civil  gov- 
ernment be  such  a  protector  from  natural  evils,  and 
such  a  nurse  and  increaser  of  blessings,  as  those  of 
warm  imaginations  promise.  In  such  a  discussion, 
far  am  I  from  proposing  in  the  least  to  reflect  on 
our  most  wise  form  of  government;  no  more  than 


14  A    VINDICATION    OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

I  would,  in  the  freer  parts  of  my  philosophical  writ- 
ings, mean  to  object  to  the  piety,  truth,  and  perfec- 
tion of  our  most  excellent  Church.  Both,  I  am  sen- 
sible, have  their  foundations  on  a  rock.  No  discovery 
of  truth  can  prejudice  them.  On  the  contrary,  the 
more  closely  the  origin  of  religion  and  government 
is  examined,  the  more  clearly  their  excellences  must 
appear.  They  come  purified  from  the  fire.  My  busi- 
ness is  not  with  them.  Having  entered  a  protest 
against  all  objections  from  these  quarters,  I  may  the 
more  freely  inquire,  from  history  and  experience, 
how  far  policy  has  contributed  in  all  times  to  allevi- 
ate those  evils  which  Providence,  that  perhaps  has 
designed  us  for  a  state  of  imperfection,  has  imposed  ; 
how  far  our  physical  skill  has  cured  our  constitu- 
tional disorders  ;  and  whether  it  may  not  have  intro- 
duced new  ones,  curable  perhaps  by  no  skill. 

In  looking  over  any  state  to  form  a  judgment  on 
it,  it  presents  itself  in  two  lights  ;  the  external,  and 
the  internal.  The  first,  that  relation  which  it  bears 
in  point  of  friendship  or  enmity  to  other  states.  The 
second,  that  relation  which  its  component  parts,  the 
governing  and  the  governed,  bear  to  each  other. 
The  first  part  of  the  external  view  of  all  states, 
their  relation  as  friends,  makes  so  trilling  a  figure  in 
history,  that  I  am  very  sorry  to  say,  it  allbrds  mo  but 
little  matter  on  which  to  expatiate.  The  good  offices 
(lone  by  one  nation  to  its  neighbor ;  *  the  support 
given  ill  public  distress;  the  relief  allbrded  in  gen- 

*  Hiul  liis  lonlsliip  lived  to  our  days,  to  liave  scoii  the  luililc  ivlii-f 
pivcn  by  this  nation  to  the  distressed  Portuguese,  he  had  ])erliap8 
owned  this  pint  of  liis  argument  a  little  weakened  ;  hut  we  do  not 
think  ourselves  cntiilcd  to  alter  his  lordship's  words,  but  that  we  arc 
Ijotind  to  follow  him  exuetljr. 


A   VINDICATION   OF  NATURAL   SOCIETY.  15 

eral  calamity ;  the  protection  granted  in  emergent 
danger  ;  the  mutual  return  of  kindness  and  civility, 
Tv^ould  afford  a  very  ample  and  very  pleasing  subject 
for  history.  But,  alas !  all  the  history  of  all  times, 
concerning  all  nations,  does  not  afford  matter  enough 
to  fill  ten  pages,  though  it  should  be  spun  out  by  the 
wire-drawing  amplification  of  a  Guicciardini  himself. 
The  glaring  side  is  that  of  enmity.  War  is  the  mat- 
ter which  fills  all.  history,  and  consequently  the  only 
or  almost  the  only  view  in  which  we  can  see  the 
external  of  political  society  is  in  a  hostile  shape  ; 
and  the  only  actions  to  which  we  have  always  seen, 
and  still  see  all  of  them  intent,  are  such  as  tend  to  the 
destruction  of  one  another.  "War,"  says  Machiavel, 
"  ought  to  be  the  only  study  of  a  prince  " ;  and  by  a 
prince,  he  means  every  sort  of  state,  however  con- 
stituted. "  He  ought,"  says  this  great  political  doc- 
tor, "  to  consider  peace  only  as  a  breathing-time, 
which  gives  him  leisure  to  contrive,  and  furnishes 
ability  to  execute  military  plans.."  A  meditation  on 
the  conduct  of  political  societies  made  old  Hobbes 
imagine,  that  war  was  the  state  of  nature  ;  and  truly, 
if  a  man  judged  of  the  individuals  of  our  race  by 
their  conduct  when  united  and  packed  into  nations 
and  kingdoms,  he  might  imagine  that  every  sort  of 
virtue  was  unnatural  and  foreign  to  the  mind  of 
man. 

The  first  accounts  we  have  of  mankind  are  but  so 
many  accounts  of  their  butcheries.  All  empires  have 
been  cemented  in  blood ;  and,  in  those  early  periods, 
when  the  race  of  mankind  began  first  to  form  them- 
selves into  parties  and  combinations,  the  first  efiect 
of  the  combination,  and  indeed  the  end  for  which  it 
seems  purposely  formed,   and   best   calculated,  was 


16  A    VINDICATION   OF  NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

their  mutual  destruction.  All  ancient  history  is  dark 
and  uncertain.  One  thing,  however,  is  clear,  —  there 
were  conquerors,  and  conquests  in  those  days ;  and, 
consequently,  all  that  devastation  by  which  they  are 
formed,  and  all  that  oppression  by  which  they  are 
maintained.  We  know  little  of  Sesostris,  but  that  he 
led  out  of  Egypt  an  army  of  above  700,000  men ; 
that  he  overran  the  Mediterranean  coast  as  far  as 
Colchis  ;  that  in  some  places  he  met  but  little  resist- 
ance, and  of  course  shed  not  a  great  deal  of  blood ; 
but  that  he  found  in  others  a  people  who  knew  the 
value  of  their  liberties,  and  sold  them  dear.  Who- 
ever considers  the  army  this  conqueror  headed,  the 
space  he  traversed,  and  the  opposition  he  frequently, 
met,  with  the  natural  accidents  of  sickness,  and  the 
dearth  and  badness  of  provision  to  which  he  must 
have  been  subject  in  the  variety  of  climates  and  coun- 
tries his  march  lay  through,  if  he  knows  anything, 
he  must  know  that  even  the  conqueror's  army  must 
have  suffered  greatly  ;  and  that  of  this  immense  num- 
ber but  a  very  small  part  could  have  returned  to  en- 
joy the  plunder  accumulated  by  the  loss  of  so  many 
of  their  companions,  and  the  devastation  of  so  consid- 
erable a  part  of  the  world.  Considering,  I  say,  the 
vast  army  headed  by  this  conqueror,  whose  unwieldy 
weight  was  almost  alone  sufficient  to  wear  down  its 
strength,  it  will  be  far  from  excess  to  suppose  that 
one  half  was  lost  in  the  expedition.  If  this  was  the 
state  of  the  victorious,  and  from  the  circumstances  it 
nuist  have  been  tliis  at  the  least ;  the  vanqtiished 
must  have  had  a  much  heavier  loss,  as  the  greatest 
slaughter  is  always  in  tlie  flight,  and  great  carnage 
did  in  those  times  and  counti'ies  ever  attend  tbe  first 
rage  of  conquest.     It  will,  therefore,  bo  very  icason 


A    VINDICATION' OP   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  17 

able  to  allow  on  their  account  as  much  as,  added  to 
the  losses  of  the  conqueror,  may  amount  to  a  million 
of  deaths,  and  then  we  shall  see  this  conqueror,  the 
oldest  we  have  on  the  records  of  history,  (though,  as 
we  have  observed  before,  the  chronology* of  these  re- 
mote times  is  extremely  uncertain),  opening  the  scene 
by  a  destruction  of  at  least  one  million  of  his  species, 
unprovoked  but  by  his  ambition,  without  any  motives 
but  pride,  cruelty,  and  madness,  and  without  any 
benefit  to  himself  (for  Justin  expressly  tells  us  he  did 
not  maintain  his  conquests),  but  solely  to  make  so 
many  people,  in  so  distant  countries,  feel  experiment- 
ally how  severe  a  scourge  Providence  intends  for  the 
human  race,  when  he  gives  one  man  the  power  over 
many,  and  arms  his  naturally  impotent  and  feeble 
rage  with  the  hands  of  millions,  who  know  no  com- 
mon principle  of  action,  but  a  blind  obedience  to  the 
passions  of  their  ruler. 

The  next  personage  who  figures  in  the  tragedies  of 
this  ancient  theatre  is  Semiramis ;  for  we  have  no 
particulars  of  Ninus,  but  that  he  made  immense  and 
rapid  conquests,  which  doubtless  were  not  compassed 
without  the  usual  carnage.  We  see  an  army  of  about 
three  millions  employed  by  this  martial  queen  in  a 
war  against  the  Indians.  We  see  the  Indians  arming 
a  yet  greater ;  and  we  behold  a  war  continued  with 
much  fury,  and  with  various  success.  This  ends  in 
tlie  retreat  of  the  queen,  with  scarce  a  third  of  the 
troops  employed  in  the  expedition;  an  expedition 
which,  at  this  rate,  must  have  cost  two  millions  of 
souls  on  her  part ;  and  it  is  not  unreasonable  to  judge 
that  the  country  which  was  the  seat  of  war  must  have 
been  an  equal  sufferer.  But  I  am  content  to  detract 
from  this,  and  to  suppose  that  the  Indians  lost  only 

VOL.  I.  2 


18  A    VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

half  SO  much,  and  then  the  account  stands  thus :  in 
this  war  alone  (for  Semiramis  had  other  wars)  in  this 
single  reign,  and  in  this  one  spot  of  the  globe,  did 
three  millions  of  souls  expire,  with  all  the  horrid  and 
shocking  circumstances  which  attend  all  wars,  and  in 
a  quarrel,  in  which  none  of  the  sutferers  could  have 
tlie  least  rational  concern. 

The  Babylonian,  Assyrian,   Median,   and   Persian 
monarchies  must  have  poured  out  seas  of  blood  in 
their  formation,  and  in  their  destruction.    The  armies 
and  fleets  of  Xerxes,  their  numbers,  the  glorious  stand 
made  against  them,  and  the  unfortunate  event  of  all 
his  mighty  preparations,  are  known   to   everybody. 
In  this  expedition,  draining  half  Asia  of  its  inhabi- 
tants, he  led  an  army  of  about  two  millions  to  be 
slaughtered,  and  wasted  by  a  thousand  fatal   acci- 
dents, in  the  same  place  where  his  predecessors  had 
before  by  a  similar  madness  consumed  the  flower  of 
so  many  kingdoms,  and  wasted  the  force  of  so  exten- 
sive an  empire.     It  is  a  cheap  calculation  to  say,  that 
the  Persian  empire,  in  its  wars  against  the  Greeks  and 
Scythians,  tlirew  away  at  least  four  millions  of  its 
subjects ;  to  say  nothing  of  its  other  wars,  and  the 
losses   sustained  in  them.     These  wore  their  losses 
abroad  ;  l)ut  the  war  was  brought  home  to  them,  first 
by  Agcsilaus,  and  afterwards  by  Alexander.     I  have 
not,  in  this  retreat,  the  books  necessary  to  make  very 
exact  calculations ;  nor  is  it  necessary  to  give  more 
than  hints  to  one  of  your  lordship's  erudition.     You 
will    recollect   his   \inintorrupted   series   of   success. 
You  will  run  over  his  battles.     You  will  call  to  mind 
the  carnage  which  was  made.    You  will  give  a  glance 
at  the  whole,  and  you  will  agree  with  me,  tiiat  to 
form  this  licro  no  less  11i:i,m  twelve  hundred  thousand 


A    VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  19 

lives  must  have  been  sacrificed ;  but  no  sooner  had 
he  fallen  himself  a  sacrifice  to  his  vices,  than  a  thou- 
sand breaches  were  made  for  ruin  to  enter,  and  give 
the  last  hand  to  this  scene  of  misery  and  destruction. 
His  kingdom  was  rent  and  divided ;  which  served  to 
employ  the  more  distinct  parts  to  tear  each  other  to 
pieces,  and  bury  the  whole  in  blood  and  slaughter. 
The  kings  of  Syria  and  of  Egypt,  the  kings  of  Per- 
gamus  and  Macedon,  without  intermission  worried 
each  other  for  above  two  hundred  years  ;  until  at  last 
a  strong  power,  arising  in  the  west,  rushed  in  upon 
them  and  silenced  their  tumults,  by  involving  all  the 
contendhig  parties  in  the  same  destruction.  It  is 
little  to  say,  that  the  contentions  between  the  suc- 
cessors of  Alexander  depopulated  that  part  'of  the 
world  of  at  least  two  millions. 

The  struggle  between  the  Macedonians  and  Greeks, 
and,  before  that,  the  disputes  of  the  Greek  common- 
wealths among  themselves,  for  an  unprofitable  supe- 
riority, form  one  of  the  bloodiest  scenes  in  history. 
One  is  astonished  how  such  a  small  spot  could  furnish 
men  sufficient  to  sacrifice  to  the  pitiful  ambition  of 
possessing  five  or  six  thousand  more  acres,  or  two  or 
three  more  villages ;  yet  to  see  the  acrimony  and 
bitterness  with  which  this  was  disputed  between  the 
Athenians  and  Lacedemonians  ;  what  armies  cut  off; 
what  fleets  sunk  and  burnt ;  what  a  number  of  cities 
sacked,  and  their  inhabitants  slaughtered  and  cap- 
tived  ;  one  would  be  induced  to  believe  the  decision 
of  the  fate  of  mankind,  at  least,  depended  upon  it ! 
But  these  disputes  ended  as  all  such  ever  have  done, 
and  ever  will  do  ;  in  a  real  weakness  of  all  parties  ; 
a  momentary  shadow,  and  dream  of  power  in  some 
one ;  and  the  subjection  of  all  to  the  yoke  of  a  stran- 


20  A    VINDICATION   OP   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

ger,  who  knows  how  to  profit  of  their  divisions.  This, 
at  least,  was  the  case  of  the  Greeks  ;  and  surely,  from 
the  earliest  accounts  of  them,  to  their  absorption  into 
the  Roman  empire,  we  cannot  judge  that  their  intes- 
tine divisions,  and  their  foreign  wars,  consumed  less 
than  three  millions  of  their  inhabitants. 

What  an  Aceldama,  what  a  field  of  blood  Sicily 
has  been  in  ancient  times,  whilst  the  mode  of  its 
government  was  controverted  between  the  republican 
and  tyrannical  parties,  and  the  possession  struggled 
for  by  the  natives,  the  Greeks,  the  Carthaginians,  and 
the  Romans,  your  lordship  will  easily  recollect.  You 
will  remember  the  total  destruction  of  such  bodies  as 
an  army  of  300,000  men.  You  will  find  every  page 
of  its  history  dyed  in  blood,  and  blotted  and  con- 
founded by  tumults,  rebellions,  massacres,  assassina- 
tions, proscriptions,  and  a  series  of  horror  beyond  the 
histories  perhaps  of  any  other  nation  in  the  world ; 
though  the  histories  of  all  nations  are  made  up  of 
similar  matter.  I  once  more  excuse  myself  in  point 
of  exactness  for  want  of  books.  But  I  shall  estimate 
the  slaughters  in  this  island  but  at  two  millions ;  which 
your  lordship  will  find  much  short  of  the  reality. 

Let  us  pass  by  the  wars,  and  the  consequences  of 
them,  which  wasted  Grccia-]\ragna,  before  the  Roman 
power  prevailed  in  that  part  of  Italy.  They  are  per- 
haps exaggerated ;  therefore  I  shall  only  rate  them 
at  one  million.  Let  us  hasten  to  open  that  great 
scene  which  cstaljlishes  the  Roman  empire,  and  forms 
the  grand  catastrophe  of  the  ancient  drama.  This 
empire,  whilst  in  its  infancy,  began  by  an  effusion  of 
human  blood  scarcely  credible.  The  neigliboring 
little  states  teemed  for  new  destruction  :  the  Sabines, 
the  Samnites,  the  yEqui,  the  Yolsci,  tlie  Iletrurians, 


A   VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  21 

were  broken  by  a  series  of  slaughters  which  had  no 
interruption,  for  some  Inindreds  of  years ;  slaughters 
which  upon  all  sides  consumed  more  than  two  mil- 
lions of  the  wretched  people.  The  Gauls,  rushing 
into  Italy  about  this  time,  added  the  total  destruc- 
tion of  tlieir  own  armies  to  those  of  the  ancient  in- 
habitants. In  short,  it  were  hardly  possible  to  con- 
ceive a  more  horrid  and  bloody  picture,  if  that  the 
Punic  wars  that  ensued  soon  after  did  not  present 
one  that  far  exceeds  it.  Here  we  find  that  climax  of 
devastation  and  ruin,  which  seemed  to  shake  the 
whole  earth.  The  extent  of  this  war,  which  vexed 
so  many  nations,  and  both  elements,  and  the  havoc 
of  the  human  species  caused  in  both,  really  astonishes 
beyond  expression,  when  it  is  nalcedly  considered, 
and  those  matters  which  are  apt  to  divert  our  atten- 
tion from  it,  the  characters,  actions,  and  designs  of 
the  persons  concerned,  are  not  taken  into  the  account. 
These  wars,  I  mean  those  called  the  Punic  wars,  could 
not  have  stood  the  human  race  in  less  than  three 
millions  of  the  species.  And  yet  this  forms  but  a 
part  only,  and  a  very  small  part,  of  the  havoc  caused 
by  the  Roman  ambition.  The  war  with  Mithridates 
was  very  little  less  bloody ;  that  prince  cut  off  at  one 
stroke  150,000  Romans  by  a  massacre.  In  that  war 
Sylla  destroyed  300,000  men  at  Cheronea.  He  de- 
feated Mithridates'  army  under  Dorilaus,  and  slew 
300,000.  This  great  and  unfortunate  prince  lost 
another  300,000  before  Cyzicum.  In  the  course  of 
the  war  he  had  innumerable  other  losses ;  and  having 
many  intervals  of  success,  he  revenged  them  severely. 
He  was  at  last  totally  overthrown ;  and  he  crushed 
to  pieces  the  king  of  Armenia,  his  ally,  by  the  great- 
ness of  his  ruin.     All  who  had  connections  with  him 


22  A    VINDICATION   OP  NATUEAL   SOCIETY. 

shared  the  same  fate.  The  merciless  genius  of  Sylla 
had  its  full  scope  ;  and  the  streets  of  Athens  were  not 
the  only  ones  which  ran  with  blood.  At  this  period, 
the  sword,  glutted  with  foreign  slaughter,  turned 
its  edge  upon  the  bowels  of  the  Roman  republic  it- 
self;  and  presented  a  scene  of  cruelties  and  treasons 
enough  almost  to  obliterate  the  memory  of  all  the 
external  devastations.  I  intended,  my  lord,  to  have 
proceeded  in  a  sort  of  method  in  estimating  the  num- 
bers of  mankind  cut  off  in  these  wars  which  we  have 
on  record.  But  I  am  obliged  to  alter  my  design. 
Such  a  tragical  uniformity  of  havoc  and  murder 
would  disgust  your  lordship  as  much  as  it  would  me ; 
and  I  confess  I  already  feel  my  eyes  ache  by  keeping 
them  so  long  intent  on  so  bloody  a  prospect.  I  shall 
observe  little  on  the  Servile,  the  Social,  the  Gallic, 
and  Spanish  wars ;  nor  iipon  those  with  Jugurtha, 
nor  Antiochus,  nor  many  others  equally  important, 
and  carried  on  with  equal  fury.  The  butcheries  of 
Julius  Csesar  alone  are  calculated  by  somebody  else ; 
the  numbers  he  has  been  the  means  of  destroying 
have  been  reckoned  at  1,200,000.  But  to  give  your 
lordship  an  idea  that  may  serve  as  a  standard,  by 
which  to  measure,  in  some  degree,  the  others ;  yoii 
will  turn  your  eyes  on  Judea ;  a  very  inconsiderable 
spot  of  the  earth  in  itself,  though  ennobled  by  the 
singular  events  which  had  tlicir  rise  in  that  country. 
This  spot  happened,  it  matters  not  here  by  what 
means,  to  become  at  several  times  extremely  populous, 
and  to  suj)])ly  men  for  slaugliters  scarcely  credible, 
if  other  well-known  and  well-attested  ones  liad  not 
given  them  a  color.  Tlic  first  settling  of  the  Jews 
here  was  attended  l)y  an  almost  entire  extirpation  of 
all  the  former  inhabitants.    Tlioir  own  civil  wars,  and 


A    VINDICATION    OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  23 

those  with  their  petty  neighbors,  consumed  vast  mul' 
titucles  ahnost  every  year  for  several  centuries ;  and 
the  irruptions  of  the  kings  of  Babylon  and  Assyria 
made  immense  ravages.  Yet  we  have  their  history 
but  partially,  in  an  indistinct,  confused  manner ;  so 
that  I  shall  only  throw  the  strong  point  of  light  upon 
that  part  which  coincides  with  Roman  history,  and 
of  that  part  only  on  the  point  of  time  when  they  re- 
ceived the  great  and  final  stroke  which  made  them 
no  more  a  nation ;  a  stroke  which  is  allowed  to  have 
cut  off  little  less  than  two  millions  of  that  people.  I 
say  nothing  of  the  loppings  made  from  that  stock 
whilst  it  stood ;  nor  from  the  suckers  that  grew  out 
of  the  old  root  ever  since.  But  if,  in  this  inconsider- 
able part  of  the  globe,  such  a  carnage  has  been  made 
in  two  or  three  short  reigns,  and  that  this  great  car- 
nage, great  as  it  is,  makes  but  a  minute  part  of  what 
tli€  histories  of  that  people  inform  us  they  suffered ; 
what  shall  we  judge  of  countries  more  extended,  and 
which  have  waged  wars  by  far  more  considerable  ? 

Instances  of  this  sort  compose  the  uniform  of  his- 
tory. But  there  have  been  periods  when  no  less  than 
universal  destruction  to  the  race  of  mankind  seems 
to  have  been  threatened.  Such  was  that  when  the 
Goths,  the  Vandals,  and  the  Huns,  poured  into  Gaul, 
Italy,  Spain,  Greece,  and  Africa,  carrying  destruction 
before  them  as  they  advanced,  and  leaving  horrid 
deserts  every  way  behind  them.  Vastum  uhique  si- 
lentium,  secreti  colles  ;  fumantia  procul  teeta  ;  nemo  ex- 
ploratoribus  obvius,  is  what  Tacitus  calls  fades  victorice. 
It  is  always  so  ;  but  was  here  emphatically  so.  From 
the  north  proceeded  the  swarms  of  Goths,  Vandals, 
Huns,  Ostrogoths,  who  ran  towards  the  soutli,  into 
Africa  itself,  which  suffered  as  all  to  the  north  had 


24  A    VINDICATION   OF  NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

done.  About  this  time,  another  torrent  of  barba- 
rians, animated  by  the  same  fury,  and  encouraged  by 
the  same  success,  poured  out  of  the  south,  and  rav- 
aged all  to  the  northeast  and  west,  to  the  remotest 
parts  of  Persia  on  one  hand,  and  to  the  banks  of  the 
Loire  or  farther  on  the  other ;  destroying  all  the 
proud  and  curious  monuments  of  human  art,  that 
not  even  the  memory  might  seem  to  survive  of  the 
former  inhabitants.  What  has  been  done  since,  and 
what  will  continue  to  be  done  while  the  same  induce- 
ments to  war  continue,  I  shall  not  dwell  upon.  I 
shall  only  in  one  word  mention  the  horrid  effects  of 
bigotry  and  avarice,  in  the  conquest  of  Spanish 
Ajnerica ;  a  conquest,  on  a  low  estimation,  effected 
by  the  murder  of  ten  millions  of  the  species.  I  shall 
draw  to  a  conclusion  of  this  part,  by  making  a  gen- 
eral calculation  of  the  whole.  I  think  I  have  actually 
mentioned  above  thirty-six  millions.  I  have  not  par- 
ticularized any  more.  I  don't  pretend  to  exactness  ; 
therefore,  for  the  sake  of  a  general  view,  I  shall  lay 
together  all  those  actually  slain  in  battles,  or  who 
liave  perished  in  a  no  less  miserable  manner  by  the 
other  destructive  consequences  of  war  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  world  to  this  day,  in  the  four  parts  of  it, 
at  a  thousand  times  as  much  ;  no  exaggerated  calcu- 
lation, allowing  for  time  and  extent.  We  have  not 
perhaps  spoke  of  the  five-hundredth  part ;  I  am  sure 
I  have  not  of  what  is  actually  ascertained  in  history ; 
but  how  much  of  these  butcheries  are  only  expressed 
in  generals,  what  part  of  time  history  has  never 
reached,  and  what  vast  spaces  of  the  habitable  globe 
it  has  not  embraced,  I  need  not  mention  to  your 
lordship.  I  need  not  enlarge  on  those  torrents  of 
silent  and  inglorious  blood  whicli  have  glutted  the 


A    VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  25   - 

thirsty  sands  of  Afric,  or  discolored  the  polar  snow, 
or  fed  the  savage  forests  of  America  for  so  many  ages 
of  continual  war.  Shall  I,  to  justify  my  calculations 
from  the  charge  of  extravagance,  add  to  the  account 
those  skirmishes  which  happen  in  all  wars,  without 
being  singly  of  sufficient  dignity  in  mischief,  to  merit 
a  place  in  history,  but  which  by  their  frequency  com- 
pensate for  this  comparative  innocence?  shall  I  in- 
flame the  account  by  those  general  massacres  which 
have  devoured  whole  cities  and  nations ;  those  wast- 
ing pestilences,  those  consuming  famines,  and  all 
those  furies  that  follow  in  the  train  of  war  ?  I  have 
no  need  to  exaggerate  ;  and  I  have  purposely  avoided 
a  parade  of  eloquence  on  this  occasion.  I  should 
despise  it  upon  any  occasion ;  else  in  mentioning 
these  slaughters,  it  is  obvious  how  much  the  whole 
might  be  heightened,  by  an  affecting  description  of 
the  horrors  that  attend  the  wasting  of  kingdoms,  and 
sacking  of  cities.  But  I  do  not  write  to  the  vulgar, 
nor  to  that  which  only  governs  the  vulgar,  their  pas- 
sions. I  go  upon  a  naked  and  moderate  calculation, 
just  enough,  without  a  pedantical  exactness,  to  give 
your  lordship  some  feeling  of  the  effects  of  political 
society.  I  charge  the  whole  of  these  effects  on  politi- 
cal society.  I  avow  the  charge,  and  I  shall  presently 
make  it  good  to  your  lordship's  satisfaction.  The 
numbers  I  particularized  are  about  tliirty-six  millions. 
Besides  those  killed  in  battles  I  have  said  something:, 
not  half  what  the  matter  would  have  justified,  but 
something  I  have  said  concerning  the  consequences 
of  war  even  more  dreadful  than  that  monstrous  car- 
nage itself  which  shocks  our  humanity,  and  almost 
staggers  our  belief.  So  that,  allowing  me  in  my  ex- 
uberance one  way  for  my  deficiencies  in  the  other, 


*26  A    VINDICATION    OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

you  will  find  me  not  unreasonable.  I  think  the 
numbers  of  men  now  upon  earth  are  computed  at 
five  hundred  millions  at  the  most.  Here  the  slaugh- 
ter of  mankind,  on  what  you  will  call  a  small  calcu- 
lation, amounts  to  upwards  of  seventy  times  the 
number  of  souls  this  day  on  the  globe  :  a  point  which 
may  furnish  matter  of  reflection  to  one  less  mclined 
to  draw  consequences  than  your  lordship. 

I  now  come  to  show  that  political  society  is  justly 
chargeable  with  much  the  greatest  part  of  this  de- 
struction of  the  species.  To  give  the  fairest  play  to 
every  side  of  the  question,  I  will  own  that  there  is  a 
haughtiness  and  fierceness  in  human  nature,  which 
will  cause  innumerable  broils,  place  men  in  what  sit- 
uation you  please ;  but  owning  this,  I  still  insist  in 
charging  it  to  political  regulations,  that  these  broils 
are  so  frequent,  so  cruel,  and  attended  with  conse- 
quences so  deplorable.  In  a  state  of  nature,  it  had 
been  impossible  to  find  a  number  of  men,  sufficient  for 
such  slaughters,  agreed  in  the  same  bloody  purpose  ; 
or  allowing  that  they  might  have  come  to  such  an 
agreement  (an  impossible  supposition),  yet  the  means 
that  simple  nature  has  supplied  them  with,  are  by  no 
means  adequate  to  such  an  end ;  many  scratches, 
many  bruises  undoubtedly  would  be  received  upon  all 
liands ;  but  only  a  few,  a  very  few  deaths.  Society 
and  politics,  which  have  given  us  tliese  destructive 
views,  have  given  us  also  the  means  of  satisfying 
tliem.  From  the  earliest  daAvnings  of  policy  to  this 
day,  the  invention  of  men  lias  been  sharpening  and 
improving  the  mystery  of  murder,  from  the  first  rude 
essays  of  clubs  and  stones,  to  the  ])rcscnt  perfection 
of  gunnery,  cannoncering.  l)oiiibarding,MniniMg,  and 
all  those  sj)ecics  of  artidciiil,  h;;uned,  and  rcfnicd  cru- 


A    VINDICATION    OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  27 

elty,  in  which  we  are  now  so  expert,  and  which  make 
a  principal  part  of  what  politicians  have  taught  us  to 
believe  is  our  principal  glory. 

How  far  mere  nature  would  have  carried  us,  we 
may  judge  by  the  example  of  those  animals  who  still 
follow  her  laws,  and  even  of  those  to  whom  she  has 
given  dispositions  more  fierce,  and  arms  more  terrible 
than  ever  she  intended  we  should  use.  It  is  an  incon- 
testable truth  that  there  is  more  havoc  made  in  one 
year  by  men  of  men,  than  has  been  made  by  all  the 
lions,  tigers,  panthers,  ounces,  leopards,  hyenas,  rhi- 
noceroses, elephants,  bears  and  wolves,  upon  their 
several  species,  since  the  beginning  of  the  world ; 
though  these  agree  ill  enough  with  each  other,  and 
have  a  much  greater  proportion  of  rage  and  fury  in 
their  composition  than  we  have.  But  with  respect  to 
you,  ye  legislators,  ye  civilizers  of  mankind !  ye 
Orpheuses,  Moseses,  Minoses,  Solons,  Theseuses.  Ly- 
curguses,  Numas !  with  respect  to  you  be  it  spoken, 
your  regulations  have  done  more  mischief  in  cold 
blood,  than  all  the  rage  of  the  fiercest  animals  in  their 
greatest  terrors,  or  furies,  has  ever  done,  or  ever 
could  do ! 

These  evils  are  not  accidental.  Whoever  will  take 
the  pains  to  consider  the  nature  of  society  will  find 
that  they  result  directly  from  its  constitution.  For 
as  subordination,  or,  in  other  words,  the  reciprocation 
of  tyranny  and  slavery,  is  requisite  to  support  these 
societies ;  the  interest,  the  ambition,  the  malice,  or 
the  revenge,  nay,  even  the  whim  and  caprice  of  one 
ruling  man  among  them,  is  enough  to  arm  all  the 
rest,  without  any  private  views  of  their  own,  to  the 
worst  and  blackest  purposes :  and  what  is  at  once 
lamentable,  and   ridiculous,  these  wretches   engage 


28  A   VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

under  those  banners  with  a  fiiry  greater  than  if  they 
were  animated  by  revenge  for  their  own  proper 
wrono-s. 

It  is  no  less  worth  observing,  that  this  artificial 
dixision  of  mankind  into  separate  societies  is  a 
perpetual  source  in  itself  of  hatred  and  dissension 
among  them.  The  names  which  distinguish  them 
are  enough  to  blow  iip  hatred  and  rage.  Examine 
history ;  consult  present  experience  ;  and  you  will 
find  that  far  the  greater  part  of  the  quarrels  between 
several  nations  had  scarce  any  other  occasion  than 
that  these  nations  were  different  combinations  of  peo- 
ple, and  called  by  different  names  :  to  an  English- 
man, the  name  of  a  Frenchman,  a  Spaniard,  an 
Italian,  much  more  a  Turk,  or  a  Tartar,  raises  of 
course  ideas  of  hatred  and  contempt.  If  you  would 
inspire  this  compatriot  of  ours  with  pity  or  regard 
for  one  of  these,  would  you  not  hide  that  distinction  ? 
You  would  not  pray  him  to  compassionate  the  poor 
Frenchman,  or  the  unhaj)py  German.  Far  from  it ; 
you  would  speak  of  him  as  a  foreigner ;  an  accident 
to  which  all  are  liable.  You  would  represent  him  as 
a  man  ;  one  partaking  Avith  us  of  tlic  same  common 
nature,  and  subject  to  the  same  law.  There  is  some- 
thing so  averse  from  our  luiture  in  these  artificial 
political  distinctions,  that  we  need  no  other  trumpet 
to  kindle  us  to  war  and  destruction.  But  there  is 
something  so  benign  and  healing  in  the  general  voice 
of  iuimanity  tbat,  maugre  all  our  regulations  to  pre- 
vent it,  the  simple  name  of  man  applied  properly, 
never  fails  to  work  a  salntary  efiect. 

Tiiis  natural  unpremeditated  efiect  of  policy  on  the 
unpossessed  passions  of  mankind  ai)pears  on  other 
occasions.     The  very  name  of  a  politician,  a  states- 


A    VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  29 

man,  is  sure  to  cause  terror  and  hatred  ;  it  has 
always  connected  with  it  the  ideas  of  treachery,  cru- 
elty, fraud,  and  tyranny  ;  and  those  writers  who  have 
faithfully  unveiled  the  mysteries  of  state-freemasonry, 
have  ever  been  held  in  general  detestation,  for  even 
knowing  so  })erfectly  a  theory  so  detestable.  The 
case  of  Machiavel  seems  at  first  sight  something  hard 
in  that  respect.  He  is  obliged  to  bear  the  iniquities 
of  those  whose  maxims  and  rules  of  government  he 
published.  His  speculation  is  more  abhorred  than 
their  practice. 

But  if  there  were  no  other  arguments  against  arti- 
ficial society  than  this  I  am  going  to  mention,  me- 
thinks  it  ought  to  fall  by  this  one  only.  All  writers 
on  the  science  of  policy  are  agreed,  and  they  agree 
wdth  experience,  that  all  governments  must  frequent- 
ly infringe  the  rules  of  justice  to  support  themselves  ; 
that  truth  must  give  way  to  dissimulation  ;  honesty 
to  convenience  ;  and  humanity  itself  to  the  reigning 
interest.  The  whole  of  this  mystery  of  iniquity  is 
called  the  reason  of  state.  It  is  a  reason  which  I 
own  I  cannot  penetrate.  What  sort  of  a  protection 
is  this  of  the  general  right,  that  is  maintained  by 
infringing  the  rights  of  particulars  ?  What  sort  of 
justice  is  this,  which  is  enforced  by  breaches  of  its 
own  laws  ?  These  paradoxes  I  leave  to  be  solved  by 
the  able  heads  of  legislators  and  politicians.  For  my 
part,  I  say  what  a  plain  man  would  say  on  such  an 
occasion.  I  caif  never  believe  that  any  institution, 
agreeable  to  nature,  and  proper  for  mankind,  could 
find  it  necessary,  or  even  expedient,  in  any  case 
whatsoever,  to  do  what  the  best  and  worthiest  in- 
stincts of  mankind  warn  us  to  avoid.  But  no  won- 
der, that  what  is  set  up  in  opposition  to  the  state  of 


30  A   VINDICATION   OP   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

nature  sliould  preserve  itself  by  trampling  upon  the 
law  of  nature. 

To  prove  that  these  sorts  of  policed  societies  are  a 
violation  offered  to  nature,  and  a  constraint  upon  the 
human  mind,  it  needs  only  to  look  upon  the  sangui- 
nary measures,  and  instruments  of  violence,  which 
are  everywhere  used  to  support  them.  Let  us  take  a 
review  of  the  dungeons,  whips,  chains,  racks,  gibbets, 
with  which  every  society  is  abundantly  stored ;  by 
which  hundreds  of  victims  are  annually  offered  up 
to  support  a  dozen  or  two  in  pride  and  madness, 
and  millions  in  an  abject  servitude  and  dependence. 
There  was  a  time  when  I  looked  with  a  reverential 
awe  on  these  mysteries  of  policy  ;  but  age,  experience, 
and  philosophy,  have  rent  the  veil ;  and  I  view  this 
sanctum  sanctorum,  at  least,  without  any  enthusiastic 
admiration.  I  acknowledge,  indeed,  the  necessity  of 
such  a  proceeding  in  such  institutions  ;  but  I  must 
have  a  very  mean  opinion  of  institutions  where  such 
proceedings  are  necessary. 

It  is  a  misfortune  that  in  no  part  of  the  globe  nat- 
ural liberty  and  natural  religion  are  to  be  found 
pure,  and  free  from  the  mixture  of  political  adultera- 
tions. Yet  we  have  implanted  in  us  by  Providence, 
ideas,  axioms,  rules,  of  what  is  pious,  just,  fair,  hon- 
est, wliich  no  i)olitical  craft,  nor  learned  sophistry 
can  entirely  expel  fioin  our  breasts.  By  these  we 
judge,  and  wo  cannot  otherwise  judge,  of  the  several 
artificial  modes  of  religion  and  society,  and  deter- 
mine of  tlicni  as  tliey  approach  to  or  recede  from  this 
standard. 

Tlie  sinij»lest  foini  of  government  is  despotism, 
wlicre  all  tbe  infcridr  orbs  of  power  arc  moved 
mcroly  by   the  will   of  the   Supreme,  and  all    that 


A    VINDICATION    OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY.      ■        31 

are  subjected  to  them  directed  in  the  same  manner, 
merely  by  the  occasional  will  of  the  magistrate. 
This  form,  as  it  is  the  most  simple,  so  it  is  infinitely 
the  most  general.  Scarcely  any  part  of  the  world 
is  exempted  from  its  power.  And  in  those  few  places 
where  men  enjoy  what  they  call  liberty,  it  is  continu- 
ally in  a  tottering  situation,  and  makes  greatcir  and 
greater  strides  to  that  gulf  of  despotism  which  at 
last  swallows  up  every  species  of  government.  The 
manner  of  ruling  being  directed  merely  by  the  will 
of  the  weakest,  and  generally  the  worst  man  in  the 
society,  becomes  the  most  foolish  and  capricious 
thing,  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  the  most  ter- 
rible and  destructive  that  well  can  be  conceived. 
In  a  despotism,  the  principal  person  finds  that,  let 
the  want,  misery,  and  indigence  of  his  subjects 
be  what  they  will,  he  can  yet  possess  abundantly 
of  everything  to  gratify  his  most  insatiable  wishes. 
He  does  more.  He  finds  that  these  gratifications  in- 
crease in  proportion  to  the  wretchedness  and  slavery 
of  his  subjects.  Thus  encouraged  both  by  passion 
and  interest  to  trample  on  the  public  welfare,  and  by 
his  station  placed  above  both  shame  and  fear,  he  pro- 
ceeds to  the  most  horrid  and  shocking  outrages  upon 
mankind.  Their  persons  become  victims  of  his  sus- 
picions. The  slightest  displeasure  is  death ;  and  a 
disagreeable  aspect  is  often  as  great  a  crime  as  high 
treason.  In  the  court  of  Nero,  a  person  of  learning, 
of  unquestioned  merit,  and  of  unsuspected  loyalty, 
was  put  to  death  for  no  other  reason,  than  that  he 
had  a  pedantic  countenance  which  displeased  the 
emperor.  This  very  monster  of  mankind  appeared 
in  the  beginning  of  his  reign  to  be  a  person  of  vir- 
tue.    Many  of  the  greatest  tyrants  on  the  records  of 


32  A   VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

history  have  begun  their  reigns  in  the  fairest  manner. 
But  the  truth  is,  this  unnatural  power  corrupts  both 
the  heart  and  the  understanding.  And  to  prevent 
the  least  hope  of  amendment,  a  king  is  ever  sur- 
rounded by  a  crowd  of  infamous  flatterers,  who  find 
their  account  in  keeping  him  from  the  least  light  of 
reason,  till  all  ideas  of  rectitude  and  justice  are  ut- 
terly erased  from  his  mind.  When  Alexander  had 
in  his  fury  inhumanly  butchered  one  of  his  best 
friends  and  bravest  captains  ;  on  the  return  of  reason 
he  began  to  conceive  an  horror  suitable  to  the  guilt 
of  such  a  murder.  In  this  juncture  his  council  came 
to  his  assistance.  But  what  did  his  council  ?  They 
found  him  out  a  philosopher  who  gave  him  comfort. 
And  in  what  manner  did  this  philosopher  comfort 
him  for  the  loss  of  such  a  man,  and  heal  his  con- 
science, flagrant  with  the  smart  of  such  a  crime  ? 
You  have  the  matter  at  length  in  Plutarch.  He  told 
him,  "  that  let  a  sovereign  do  what  he  zvill,  all  his  actions 
are  just  and  lawful,  because  they  are  his^  The  pal- 
aces of  all  princes  abound  with  such  courtly  pliiloso- 
pliers.  The  consequence  was  such  as  might  be  ex- 
pected. He  grew  every  day  a  monster  more  aban- 
doned to  unnatural  lust,  to  debauchery,  to  drunken- 
ness, and  to  murder.  And  yet  this  was  originally  a 
great  man,  of  uncommon  capacity,  and  a  strong  pro- 
pensity to  virtue.  But  unbounded  power  proceeds 
step  by  step,  until  it  lias  eradicated  every  laudable 
principle.  It  has  been  remarked,  that  there  is  no 
prince  so  bad,  whose  fiivorites  and  ministers  are  not 
worse.  There  is  hardly  any  prince  without  a  favor- 
ite, by  whom  he  is  governed  in  as  arlntrary  a  manner 
as  he  governs  the  wretches  subjected  to  him.  Hero 
the  tyranny  is  doubled.     There  are  two  courts,  and 


A    VINDICATION   OF   NATUEAL   SOCIETY.  33 

two  interests ;  both  very  different  from  the  interests 
of  the  people.  The  favorite  knows  that  the  regard 
of  a  tyrant  is  as  unconstant  and  capricious  as  that 
of  a  woman  ;  and  concluding  his  time  to  be  short,  he 
makes  haste  to  fill  up  the  measure  of  his  iniquity,  in 
rapine,  in  luxury,  and  in  revenge.  Every  avenue  to 
the  throne  is  shut  up.  He  oppresses  and  ruins  the 
people,  whilst  he  persuades  the  prince  that  those  mur- 
murs raised  by  his  own  oppression  are  the  effects  of 
disaffection  to  the  prince's  government.  Then  is  the 
natural  violence  of  despotism  inflamed  and  aggra- 
vated by  hatred  and  revenge.  To  deserve  well  of 
the  state  is  a  crime  against  the  prince.  To  be  popu- 
lar, and  to  be  a  traitor,  are  considered  as  synonymous 
terms.  Even  virtue  is  dangerous,  as  an  aspiring 
quality,  that  claims  an  esteem  by  itself,  and  indepen- 
dent of  the  countenance  of  the  court.  What  has 
been  said  of  the  chief,  is  true  of  the  inferior  officers 
of  this  species  of  government ;  each  in  his  province 
exercising  the  same  tyranny,  and  grinding  the  people 
by  an  oppression,  the  more  severely  felt,  as  it  is  near 
them,  and  exercised  by  base  and  subordinate  persons. 
For  the  gross  of  the  people,  they  are  considered  as  a 
mere  herd  of  cattle  ;  and  really  in  a  little  time  be- 
come no  better ;  all  principle  of  honest  pride,  all 
sense  of  the  dignity  of  their  nature,  is  lost  in  their 
slavery.  The  day,  says  Homer,  which  makes  a  man 
a  slave,  takes  away  half  his  worth ;  and,  in  fact,  he 
loses  every  impulse  to  action,  but  that  low  and  base 
one  of  fear.  In  this  kind  of  government  human 
nature  is  not  only  abused  and  insulted,  but  it  is 
actually  degraded  and  sunk  into  a  species  of  brutal- 
ity. The  consideration  of  this  made  Mr.  Locke  say, 
with  great  justice,  that  a  government  of  this  kind 

VOL.  I.  3 


34  A   VINDICATION   OF   NATUKAL   SOCIETY. 

was  worse  than  anarchy :  indeed  it  is  so  abhorred 
and  detested  by  all  who  live  under  forms  that  have  a 
milder  appearance,  that  there  is  scarcely  a  rational 
man  in  Europe  that  would  not  prefer  death  to  Asi- 
atic despotism.  Here  then  we  have  the  acknowledg- 
ment of  a  great  philosopher,  that  an  irregular  state 
of  nature  is  preferable  to  such  a  government;  we 
have  the  consent  of  all  sensible  and  generous  men, 
who  carry  it  yet  further,  and  avow  that  death  itself 
is  preferable ;  and  yet  this  species  of  government,  so 
justly  condemned,  and  so  generally  detested,  is  what 
infinitely  the  greater  part  of  mankind  groan  under, 
and  have  groaned  under  from  the  beginning.  So 
that,  by  sure  and  uncontested  principles,  the  greatest 
part  of  the  governments  on  earth  must  be  concluded 
tyrannies,  impostures,  violations  of  the  natural  rights 
of  mankind,  and  worse  than  tlie  most  disorderly 
anarchies.  How  much  other  forms  exceed  this  wc 
sliall  consider  immediately. 

In  all  parts  of  the  world,  mankind,  however  de- 
based, retains  still  the  sense  of  feeling  ;  the  weight 
of  tyranny  at  last  becomes  insupportable ;  but  the 
remedy  is  not  so  easy :  in  general,  the  only  remedy 
by  which  they  attempt  to  cure  the  tyranny  is  to 
change  the  tyrant.  This  is,  and  always  was,  the  case 
for  the  greater  part.  In  some  countries,  however, 
were  found  men  of  more  penetration,  who  discovered 
"  that  to  live  hy  one  man's  will  tvas  the  cause  of  all  men's 
misery.^'  They  therefore  changed  their  former 
method,  and  assembling  the  men  in  their  several 
societies  the  most  respectable  for  tbeir  understanding 
and  fortunes,  they  confided  to  them  tlie  charge  of  the 
public  welfare.  This  originally  formed  what  is  called 
an  aristocracy.     They  hoped   it  would  be  impossible 


A   VINDICATION   OF  NATURAL   SOCIETY.  35 

that  such  a  number  could  ever  join  in  any  design 
against  the  general  good ;  and  they  promised  them- 
selves a  great  deal  of  security  and  happiness  from  the 
united  counsels  of  so  many  able  and  experienced  per- 
sons. But  it  is  now  found  by  abundant  experience, 
that  an  aristocracy^  and  a  despotism,  differ  but  in 
name  ;  and  that  a  people  who  are  in  general  excluded 
from  any  share  of  the  legislative,  are,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes,  as  much  slaves,  when  twenty,  indepen- 
dent of  them,  govern,  as  when  but  one  domineers. 
The  tyranny  is  even  more  felt,  as  every  individual  of 
the  nobles  has  the  haughtiness  of  a  sultan ;  the  peo- 
ple are  more  miserable,  as  they  seem  on  the  verge  of 
liberty,  from  which  tliey  are  forever  debarred  ;  this 
fallacious  idea  of  liberty,  whilst  it  presents  a  vain 
shadow  of  happiness  to  the  subject,  binds  faster  the 
chains  of  his  subjection.  What  is  left  undone  by  the 
natural  avarice  and  pride  of  those  who  are  raised 
above  the  others,  is  completed  by  their  suspicions,  and 
their  dread  of  losing  an  authority,  which  has  no  sup- 
port in  the  common  utility  of  the  nation.  A  Genoese 
or  a  Venetian  republic  is  a  concealed  despotism; 
where  you  find  the  same  pride  of  the  rulers,  the  same 
base  subjection  of  the  people,  the  same  bloody  maxims 
of  a  suspicious  policy.  In  one  respect  the  aristocracy 
is  worse  than  the  despotism.  A  body  politic,  whilst  it 
retains  its  authority,  never  changes  its  maxims ;  a 
despotism,  which  is  this  day  horrible  to  a  supreme  de- 
gree, by  the  caprice  natural  to  the  heart  of  man,  may, 
by  the  same  caprice  otherwise  exerted,  be  as  lovely 
the  next ;  in  a  succession,  it  is  possible  to  meet  with 
some  good  princes.  If  there  have  been  Tiberiuses, 
Caligulas,  Neros,  there  have  been  likewise  the  serener 
days  of  Vespasians,  Tituses,  Trajans,  and  Antonines ; 


36  A   VINDICATION   OP  NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

but  a  body  politic  is  not  influenced  by  caprice  or 
whim,  it  proceeds  in  a  regular  manner,  its  succession 
is  insensible ;  and  every  man  as  he  enters  it,  either 
has,  or  soon  attains,  the  spirit  of  the  whole  body. 
Never  was  it  known  that  an  aristocracy,  which  was 
haughty  and  tyrannical  in  one  century,  became  easy 
and  mild  in  the  next.  In  effect,  the  yoke  of  this  spe- 
cies of  government  is  so  galling,  that  whenever  the 
people  have  got  the  least  power,  they  have  shaken  it 
off  with  the  utmost  indignation,  and  established  a 
popular  form.  And  when  they  have  not  had  strength 
enough  to  support  themselves,  they  have  thrown 
themselves  into  the  arms  of  despotism,  as  the  more 
eligible  of  the  two  evils.  This  latter  was  the  case  of 
Denmark,  who  sought  a  refuge  from  the  oppression 
of  its  nobility,  in  the  strong  hold  of  arbitrary  power. 
Poland  has  at  present  the  name  of  republic,  and  it  is 
one  of  the  aristocratic  form  ;  but  it  is  well  known  that 
the  little  finger  of  this  goverinnent  is  heavier  than  the 
loins  of  arbitrary  power  in  most  nations.  The  people 
are  not  only  politically,  but  personally  slaves,  and 
treated  with  the  utmost  indignity.  The  republic  of 
Venice  is  somewhat  more  moderate ;  yet  even  here, 
so  heavy  is  the  aristocratic  yoke,  that  the  nobles  have 
been  obliged  to  enervate  the  spirit  of  their  subjects 
by  every  sort  of  debauchery  ;  they  have  denied  them 
the  liberty  of  reason,  and  they  have  made  them 
amends  by  what  a  base  soul  will  tliink  a  more  valuiv- 
ble  liberty,  by  not  only  allowing,  l)nt  encouraging 
tliom  to  corrupt  themselves  in  the  most  scandalous 
manner.  They  consider  their  subjects  as  tlie  farmer 
docs  the  hog  he  keci)s  to  feast  upon.  He  holds  him 
fast  in  his  sty,  bnt  allows  him  to  wallow  as  much  as 
he   pleases    in   his   beloved  filth   and  gluttony.     So 


A   VINDICATION   OF  NATURAL   SOCIETY.  37 

scandalously  debauched  a  people  as  that  of  Venice 
is  to  be  met  with  nowhere  else.  High,  low,  men, 
women,  clergy,  and  laity,  are  all  alike.  The  ruling 
nobility  are  no  less  afraid  of  one  another  than  they 
are  of  the  people ;  and,  for  that  reason,  politically 
enervate  their  own  body  by  the  same  effeminate  lux- 
ury by  which  they  corrupt  their  subjects.  They  are 
impoverished  by  every  means  which  can  be  invented  ; 
and  they  are  kept  in  a  perpetual  terror  by  the  horrors 
of  a  state  inquisition.  Here  you  see  a  people  deprived 
of  all  rational  freedom,  and  tyrannized  over  by  about 
two  thousand  men ;  and  yet  this  body  of  two  thou- 
sand are  so  far  from  enjoying  any  liberty  by  the  sub- 
jection of  the  rest,  that  they  are  in  an  infinitely 
severer  state  of  slavery  ;  they  make  themselves  the 
most  degenerate  and  unhappy  of  mankind,  for  no 
other  purpose  than  that  they  may  the  more  effectu- 
ally contribute  to  the  misery  of  a  whole  nation.  In 
short,  the  regular  and  methodical  proceedings  of  an 
aristocracy  are  more  intolerable  than  the  very  excesses 
of-  a  despotism,  and,  in  general,  much  further  from 
any  remedy. 

Thus,  my  lord,  we  have  pursued  aristocracy  through 
its  whole  progress ;  we  have  seen  the  seeds,  the 
growth,  and  the  fruit.  It  could  boast  none  of  the 
advantages  of  a  despotism,  miserable  as  those  advan- 
tages were,  and  it  was  overloaded  with  an  exuberance 
of  mischiefs,  unknown  even  to  despotism  itself.  In 
effect,  it  is  no  more  than  a  disorderly  tyranny.  This 
form,  therefore,  could  be  little  approved,  even  in 
speculation,  by  those  who  were  capable  of  thinking, 
and  could  be  less  borne  in  practice  by  any  who  were 
capable  of  feeling.  However,  the  fruitful  policy  of 
man  was  not  yet  exhausted.     He  had  yet  anothei 


38  A    VINDICATION   OP   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

farthing  candle  to  supply  the  deficiencies  of  the  sun. 
This  was  the  third  form,  known  by  political  writers 
under  the  name  of  democracy.  Here  the  people 
transacted  all  public  business,  or  the  greater  part  of 
it,  in  their  own  persons ;  their  laws  were  made  by 
themselves,  and,  upon  any  failure  of  duty,  their  offi- 
cers were  accountable  to  themselves,  and  to  them 
only.  In  all  appearance,  they  had  secured  by  this 
method  the  advantages  of  order  and  good  government, 
without  paying  their  liberty  for  the  purchase.  Now, 
my  lord,  we  are  come  to  the  masterpiece  of  Grecian 
refinement,  and  Roman  solidity,  —  a  popular  govern- 
ment. The  earliest  and  most  celebrated  republic  of 
this  model  was  that  of  Athens.  It  was  constructed 
by  no  less  an  artist  than  the  celebrated  poet  and 
philosopher,  Solon.  But  no  sooner  was  this  political 
vessel  launched  from  the  stocks,  than  it  overset,  even 
in  the  lifetime  of  the  builder.  A  tyranny  immedi- 
ately supervened ;  not  by  a  foreign  conquest,  not  by 
accident,  but  by  the  very  nature  and  constitution  of 
a  democracy.  An  artful  man  became  popular,  the 
people  had  power  in  their  hands,  and  they  devolved  a 
considerable  share  of  their  power  upon  their  favorite  ; 
and  the  only  use  he  made  of  this  power  was,  to  plunge 
those  who  gave  it  into  slavery.  Accident  restored 
their  liberty,  and  the  same  good  fortune  produced 
men  of  uncommon  abilities  and  uncommon  virtues 
amongst  them.  But  these  abilities  wore  sulTered  to 
he  of  little  service  either  to  their  possessors  or  to  the 
state.  Some  of  those  men,  for  whose  sakos  alono  we 
read  tlieir  liistory,  they  banished  ;  otlicrs  tbey  iinj)ris- 
oned,  and  all  tlicy  treated  with  various  circumstances 
of  (he  most  sliameful  ingratitude.  Republics  havo 
many  things  in  tlic  spirit  of  absolute  monarchy,  l)ut 


A   VINDICATION   OP   NATURAL   SOCIETt.  39 

none  more  than  this.  A  shining  merit  is  ever  hated 
or  suspected  in  a  popular  assembly,  as  well  as  in  a 
court ;  and  all  services  done  the  state  are  looked 
upon  as  dangerous  to  the  rulers,  whether  sultans  or 
senators.  The  ostracism  at  Athens  was  built  upon 
this  principle.  The  giddy  people  whom  we  have  now 
under  consideration,  being  elated  with  some  flashes 
of  success,  which  they  owed  to  nothing  less  than  any 
merit  of  their  own,  began  to  tyrannize  over  their 
equals,  who  had  associated  with  them  for  their  com- 
mon defence.  With  their  prudence  they  renounced 
all  appearance  of  justice.  They  entered  into  wars 
rashly  and  wantonly.  If  they  were  unsuccessful,  in- 
stead of  growing  wiser  by  their  misfortune,  they  threw 
the  whole  blame  of  their  own  misconduct  on  the  min- 
isters who  had  advised,  and  the  generals  who  had 
conducted,  those  wars  ;  until  by  degrees  they  had  cut 
off  all  who  could  serve  them  in  their  councils  or  their 
battles.  If  at  any  time  these  wars  had  a  happier 
issue,  it  was  no  less  difficult  to  deal  with  them  on 
account  of  their  pride  and  insolence.  Furious  in  their 
adversity,  tyrannical  in  their  successes,  a  commander 
had  more  trouble  to  concert  his  defence  before  the 
people,  than  to  plan  the  operations  of  the  campaign. 
It  was  not  uncommon  for  a  general,  under  the  horrid 
despotism  of  the  Roman  emperors,  to  be  ill  received 
in  proportion  to  the  greatness  of  his  services.  Agri- 
cola  is  a  strong  instance  of  this.  No  man  had  done 
greater  things,  nor  with  more  honest  ambition.  Yet, 
on  his  return  to  court,  he  was  obliged  to  enter  Rome 
with  all  the  secrecy  of  a  criminal.  He  went  to  the 
palace,  not  like  a  victorious  commander  who  had 
merited  and  might  demand  the  greatest  rewards,  but 
like  an  offender  who  had  come  to  supplicate  a  pardon 


40  A   VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

for  his  crimes.  His  reception  was  answerable  ; 
"  Exceptusque  hrevi  osculo  et  nullo  sermone^  turbce  ser- 
vientium  immixtus  est.^^  Yet  in  that  worst  season  of 
this  worst  of  monarchical  *  tyrannies,  modesty,  dis- 
cretion, and  a  coolness  of  temper,  formed  some  kind 
of  security,  even  for  the  highest  merit.  But  at 
Athens,  the  nicest  and  best  studied  behavior  was  not 
a  sufficient  guard  for  a  man  of  great  capacity.  Some 
of  their  bravest  commanders  were  obliged  to  fly  tlieir 
country,  some  to  enter  into  the  service  of  its  enemies, 
rather  than  abide  a  popular  determination  on  their 
conduct,  lest,  as  one  of  them  said,  their  giddiness 
might  make  the  people  condemn  where  they  meant 
to  acquit ;  to  throw  in  a  black  bean  even  when  they 
intended  a  white  one. 

The  Athenians  made  a  very  rapid  progress  to  the 
most  enormous  excesses.  The  people,  under  no  re- 
straint, soon  grew  dissolute,  luxurious,  and  idle. 
They  renounced  all  labor,  and  began  to  subsist  them- 
selves from  the  public  revenues.  They  lost  all  con- 
cern for  their  common  honor  or  safety,  and  could 
bear  no  advice  that  tended  to  reform  them.  At  this 
time  truth  became  offensive  to  those  lords  tho  people, 
and  most  highly  dangerous  to  the  speaker.  Tlie  ora- 
tors no  longer  ascended  the  rostrum,  but  to  corrupt 
them  further  with  the  most  fulsome  adulation.  These 
orators  were  all  bribed  by  foreign  princes  on  the  one 
side  or  tlic  other.  And  besides  its  own  parties,  in 
this  city  there  were  parties,  and  avowed  ones  too,  for 
the  Persians,  Spartans,  and  Macedonians,  supported 
each  of  them  by  one  or  more  demagogues  pensioned 
and  bril)ed  to  this  ini(iuitous  service.     The  people, 

*  Sciant  qiiibus  inoris  illicita  niirnri,  posse  ctiiim  sub  miilis  prir 
cipibus  magnos  viros,  &c.     Sco  42,  to  tlio  end  of  it. 


A   VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  41 

forgetful  of  all  virtue  and  public  spirit,  and  intoxi- 
cated with  the  flatteries  of  their  orators  (these  court- 
iers of  republics,  and  endowed  with  the  distinguishing 
characteristics  of  all  other  courtiers),  this  people,  1 
say,  at  last  arrived  at  that  pitch  of  madness,  that  they 
coolly  and  deliberately,  by  an  express  law,  made  it 
capital  for  any  man  to  propose  an  application  of  the 
immense  sums  squandered  in  public  shows,  even  to 
the  most  necessary  purposes  of  the  state.  When  you 
see  the  people  of  this  republic  banishing  and  murder- 
ing their  best  and  ablest  citizens,  dissipating  the  pub- 
lic treasure  with  the  most  senseless  extravagance,  and 
spending  their  whole  time,  as  spectators  or  actors,  in 
playing,  fiddling,  dancing,  and  singing,  does  it  not, 
my  lord,  strike  your  imagination  with  the  image  of  a 
sort  of  complex  Nero  ?  And  does  it  not  strike  you 
with  the  greater  horror,  when  you  observe,  not  one 
man  only,  but  a  whole  city,  grown  drunk  with  pride 
and  power,  running  with  a  rage  of  fQlly  into  the  same 
mean  and  senseless  debauchery  an^  extravagance  ? 
But  if  this  people  resembled  Nero  in  their  extrava- 
gance, much  more  did  they  resemble  and  even  exceed 
him  in  cruelty  and  injustice.  In  the  time  of  Pericles, 
one  of  the  most  celebrated  times  in  the  history  of  that 
commonwealth,  a  king  of  Egypt  sent  them  a  donation 
of  corn.  This  they  were  mean  enough  to  accept. 
And  had  the  Egyptian  prince  intended  the  ruin  of 
this  city  of  wicked  Bedlamites,  he  could  not  have 
taken  a  more  effectual  method  to  do  it  than  by  such 
an  ensnaring  largess.  The  distribution  of  this  bounty 
caused  a  quarrel ;  the  majority  set  on  foot  an  inquiry 
into  the  title  of  the  citizens ;  and  upon  a  vain  pre 
fence  of  illegitimacy,  newly  and  occasionally  set  up, 
they  deprived  of  their  share  of  the  royal  donation  no 


42  A   VINDICATION   OF  NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

less  than  five  thousand  of  their  own  body.  They  went 
further ;  they  disfranchised  them  ;  and,  having  once 
begun  with  an  act  of  injustice,  they  could  set  no 
bounds  to  it.  Not  content  with  cutting  them  off  from 
the  rights  of  citizens,  they  phmdered  these  unfortu- 
nate wretches  of  all  their  substance ;  and,  to  crown 
this  masterpiece  of  violence  and  tyranny,  they  actu- 
ally sold  every  man  of  the  five  thousand  as  slaves  in 
the  public  market.  Observe,  my  lord,  that  the  five 
thousand  we  here  speak  of  were  cut  off  from  a  body 
of  no  more  than  nineteen  thousand ;  for  the  entire 
number  of  citizens  was  no  greater  at  that  time. 
Could  the  tyrant  who  wished  the  Roman  people  but 
one  neck ;  could  the  tyrant  Caligula  himself  have 
done,  nay,  he  could  scarcely  wish  for,  a  greater  mis- 
chief than  to  have  cut  off,  at  one  stroke,  a  fourth  of 
his  people  ?  Or  has  the  cruelty  of  that  series  of  san- 
guine tyrants,  the  Caesars,  ever  presented  such  a  piece 
of  flagrant  and  extensive  wickedness  ?  The  Avhole 
history  of  this  celebrated  republic  is  but  one  tissue  of 
rashness,  folly,  ingratitude,  injustice,  tumult,  violence, 
and  tyranny,  and,  indeed,  of  every  species  of  wicked- 
ness that  can  well  be  imagined,  '^j^liis  was  a  city  of 
wise  men,  in  which  a  minister  could  not  exercise  his 
functions ;  a  warlike  people,  amongst  whom  a  gen- 
eral did  not  dare  either  to  gain  or  lose  a  battle ;  a 
learned  nation,  in  which  a  philoso])her  could  not  ven- 
ture on  a  free  inquiry.  This  was  tlie  city  which  ban- 
ished Themistocles,  starved  Aristides,  forced  into  ex- 
ile Miltiadcs,  drove  out  Anaxagoras,  and  poisoned 
Socrates.  This  was  a  city  which  changed  the  form 
of  its  government  with  the  moon;  eternal  cons|)irii,- 
cies,  revolutions  daily,  nothing  fixed  and  established. 
A  republic,  as  an  ancient  philosopher  has  observed,  is 


A   VINDICATION  OP  NATUEAL   SOCIETY.  43 

no  one  species  of  government,  but  a  magazine  of  eveiy 
species ;  here  you  find  every  sort  of  it,  and  that  in  the 
worst  form.  As  there  is  a  perpetual  change,  one  ris- 
ing and  the  other  falling,  you  have  all  the  violence 
and  wicked  policy  by  which  a  beginning  power  must 
always  acquire  its  strength,  and  all  the  weakness  by 
which  falling  states  are  brought  to  a  complete  de- 
struction. 

Rome  has  a  more  venerable  aspect  than  Athens ; 
and  she  conducted  her  affairs,  so  far  as  related  to  the 
ruin  and  oppression  of  the  greatest  part  of  the  world, 
with  greater  wisdom  and  more  uniformity.  But  the 
domestic  economy  of  these  two  states  was  nearly  or 
altogether  the  same.  An  internal  dissension  con- 
stantly tore  to  pieces  the  bowels  of  the  Roman  com- 
monwealth. You  find  the  same  confusion,  the  same 
factions,  which  subsisted  at  Athens,  the  same  tu- 
mults, the  same  revolutions,  and,  in  fine,  the  same 
slavery ;  if,  perhaps,  their  former  condition  did  not 
deserve  that  name  altogether  as  well.  All  other  re- 
publics were  of  the  same  character.  Florence  was  a 
transcript  of  Athens.  And  the  modern  republics,  as 
they  approach  more  or  less  to  the  democratic  form, 
partake  more  or  less  of  the  nature  of  those  which  I 
have  described. 

We  are  now  at  the  close  of  our  review  of  the  three 
simple  forms  of  artificial  society  ;  and  we  have  shown 
them,  however  they  may  differ  in  name,  or  in  some 
slight  circumstances,  to  be  all  alike  in  effect:  in 
effect,  to  be  all  tyrannies.  But  suppose  we  were 
inclined  to  make  the  most  ample  concessions;  let 
us  concede  Athens,  Rome,  Carthage,  and  two  or 
three  more  of  the  ancient,  and  as  many  of  the  mod- 
ern, commonwealths,  to  have  been,  or  to   be,  free 


44  A  VINDICATION   OF   NATUEAL   SOCIETY. 

and  happy,  and  to  owe  their  freedom  and  happiness 
to  their  ])oKtical  constitution.  Yet,  allowing  all  this, 
what  del'ence  does  this  make  for  artificial  society  in 
general,  that  these  inconsiderable  spots  of  the  globe 
have  for  some  short  space  of  time  stood  as  exceptions 
to  a  charge  so  general  ?  But  when  we  call  these 
governments  free,  or  concede  that  their  citizens  were 
happier  than  those  which  lived  under  different  forms, 
it  is  merely  ex  ahundanti.  For  we  should  be  greatly 
mistaken,  if  we  really  thought  that  the  majority  of 
the  people  which  filled  these  cities  enjoyed  even  that 
nominal  political  freedom  of  which  I  have  spoken  so 
much  already.  In  reality,  they  had  no  part  of  it. 
In  Athens  there  were,  usually  from  ten  to  thirty 
thousand  freemen  ;  this  was  the  utmost.  But  the 
slaves  usually  amounted  to  four  hundred  thousand, 
and  sometimes  to  a  great  many  more.  The  freemen 
of  Sparta  and  Rome  were  not  more  numerous  in  pro- 
portion to  those  whom  they  held  in  a  slavery  even 
more  terrible  than  the  Athenian.  Therefore  state 
the  matter  fairly:  the  free  states  never  formed, 
though  tliey  were  taken  altogether,  the  thousandth 
part  of  the  habitable  globe ;  the  freemen  in  these 
states  were  never  the  twentieth  part  of  the  people, 
and  the  time  they  subsisted  is  scarce  anything  in 
that  immense  ocean  of  duration  in  which  time  and 
slavery  are  so  nearly  commensurate.  Therefore  call 
these  free  states,  or  popular  governments,  or  wliat 
you  please  ;  when  we  consider  the  mnjority  of  their 
inhabitants,  and  regard  tlie  natural  riglils  of  man- 
kind, they  must  aj)pcar,  in  reality  and  truth,  no  bet- 
ter than  pitifnl  and  oppressive  oligarchies. 

After    so    fair   an    cxamcn,  wherein    nolliiiig   has 
been   exaggerated ;  no  fact  produced  which  cannot 


A    VINDICATION    OP    NATURAL    SOCIETY.  45 

be  proved,  and  none  which  has  been  produced  in 
any  wise  forced  or  strained,  while  thousands  have, 
for  brevity,  been  omitted ;  after  so  candid  a  discus- 
sion in  all  respects  ;  what  slave  so  passive,  what  bigot 
so  hlind,  what  enthusiast  so  headlong,  what  politician 
so  hardened,  as  to  stand  up  in  defence  of  a  system 
calculated  for  a  curse  to  mankind?  a  curse  under 
which  they  smart  and  groan  to  this  hour,  without 
thoroughly  knowing  the  nature  of  the  disease,  and 
wanting  understanding  or  courage  to  supply  the 
remedy. 

I  need  not  excuse  myself  to  your  lordship,  nor, 
I  think,  to  any  honest  man,  for  the  zeal  I  have 
shown  in  this  cause ;  for  it  is  an  honest  zeal,  and 
in  a  good  cause.  I  have  defended  natural  religion 
against  a  confederacy  of  atheists  and  divines.  I 
now  plead  for  natural  society  against  politicians,  and 
for  natural  reason  against  all  three.  When  the 
world  is  in  a  fitter  temper  than  it  is  at  present  to 
hear  truth,  or  when  I  shall  be  more  indilferent  about 
its  temper,  my  thoughts  may  become  more  public. 
In  the  mean  time,  let  them  repose  in  my  own  bosom, 
and  in  the  bosoms  of  such  men  as  are  fit  to  be  ini- 
tiated in  the  sober  mysteries  of  truth  and  reason. 
My  antagonists  have  already  done  as  much  as  I  could 
desire.  Parties  in  religion  and  politics  make  suffi 
cient  discoveries  concerning  each  other,  to  give  a 
sober  man  a  proper  caution  against  them  all.  The 
monarchic,  and  aristocratical,  and  popular  partisans, 
have  been  jointly  laying  their  axes  to  the  root  of  all 
government,  and  have,  in  their  turns,  proved  each 
other  absurd  and  inconvenient.  In  vain  you  tell  me 
that  artificial  government  is  good,  but  that  I  fall  out 
only  with  the  abuse.     The  thing !   the  thing  itself  is 


46  A    VINDICATION    OP   NATUEAL   SOCIETY. 

the  abuse  !  Observe,  my  lord,  I  pray  you,  that  grand 
error  upon  which  all  artificial  legislative  power  is 
founded.  It  was  observed,  that  men  had  ungovern- 
able passions,  which  made  it  necessary  to  guard 
against  the  violence  they  might  offer  to  each  other. 
They  appointed  governors  over  them  for  this  reason. 
But  a  worse  and  more  perplexing  difficulty  arises, 
how  to  be  defended  against  the  governors?  Quis 
eustodiet  ipsos  custodes  f  In  vain  they  change  from  a 
single  person  to  a  few.  These  few  have  the  passions 
of  the  one  ;  and  they  unite  to  strengthen  themselves, 
and  to  secure  the  gratification  of  their  lawless  pas- 
sions at  the  expense  of  the  general  good.  In  vain 
do  we  fly  to  the  many.  The  case  is  worse  ;  their 
passions  are  less  under  the  government  of  reason, 
they  are  augmented  by  the  contagion,  and  defended 
against  all  attacks  by  their  multitude. 

I  have  purposely  avoided  the  mention  of  the  mixed 
form  of  government,  for  reasons  that  will  be  very 
obvious  to  your  lordship.  But  my  caution  can  avail 
me  but  little.  You  will  not  fail  to  urge  it  against 
me  in  favor  of  political  society.  You  will  not  fail  to 
show  how  the  errors  of  the  several  simple  modes 
are  corrected  by  a  mixture  of  all  of  them,  and  a 
proper  balance  of  the  several  powers  in  such  a  state. 
I  confess,  my  lord,  that  this  has  been  long  a  darling 
mistake  of  my  own  ;  and  that  of  all  the  sacrifices  I 
have  made  to  truth,  this  has  been  by  far  tlie  greatest. 
When  I  confess  that  I  think  this  notion  a  mistake,  I 
know  to  whom  I  am  speaking,  for  I  am  satisfied  that 
reasons  arc  like  liquors,  and  there  are  some  of  such 
a  nature  as  noiic  but  strong  lieads  can  bear.  There 
are  few  witli  whom  I  can  communicate  so  freely  as 
with  Pope.     But  Pope  cannot  bear  everv  truth.     He 


A    VINDICATION    OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  47 

has  a  timidity  which  hinders  tho  full  exertion  of  his 
faculties,  almost  as  effectually  as  bigotry  cramps  those 
of  the  general  herd  of  mankind.  But  whoever  is  a 
genuine  follower  of  truth  keeps  his  eye  steady  upon 
his  guide,  indifferent  whither  he  is  led,  provided  that 
she  is  the  leader.  And,  my  lord,  if  it  be  properly  con- 
sidered, it  were  infinitely  better  to  remain  possessed 
by  the  whole  legion  of  vulgar  mistakes,  than  to  re- 
ject some,  and  at  tlie  same  time  to  retain  a  fondness 
for  others  altogether  as  absurd  and  irrational.  The 
first  has  at  least  a  consistency,  that  makes  a  man, 
however  erroneously,  uniform  at  least ;  but  the  latter 
way  of  proceeding  is  such  an  inconsistent  chimera 
and  jumble  of  philosophy  and  vulgar  prejudice,  that 
hardly  anything  more  ridiculous  can  be  conceived. 
Let  us  therefore  freely,  and  without  fear  or  prejudice, 
examine  this  last  contrivance  of  policy.  And,  with- 
out considering  how  near  the  quick  our  instruments 
may  come,  let  us  search  it  to  the  bottom. 

First,  then,  all  men  are  agreed  that  this  junction  of 
regal,  aristocratic,  and  popular  power,  must  form  a 
very  complex,  nice,  and  intricate  machine,  which 
being  composed  of  such  a  variety  of  parts,  with  such 
opposite  tendencies  and  movements,  it  must  be  liable 
on  every  accident  to  be  disordered.  To  speak  with- 
out metaphor,  such  a  government  must  be  liable  to 
frequent  cabals,  tumults,  and  revolutions,  from  its 
very  constitution.  These  are  undoubtedly  as  ill 
effects  as  can  happen  in  a  society ;  for  in  such  a  case, 
the  closeness  acquired  by  community,  instead  of  serv- 
ing for  mutual  defence,  serves  only  to  increase  the 
danger.  Such  a  system  is  like  a  city,  where  trades 
that  require  constant  fires  are  much  exercised,  where 
the  houses  are  built  of  combustible  materials,  and 
where  they  stand  extremely  close. 


48  A  VINDICATION    OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

In  the  second  place,  the  several  constituent  parts 
having  their  distinct  rights,  and  these  many  of  them 
so  necessary  to  be  determined  with  exactness,  are  yet 
so  indeterminate  in  tlieir  nature,  that  it  becomes  a 
new  and  constant  source  of  debate  and  confusion. 
Hence  it  is,  that  whilst  the  business  of  government 
should  be  carrying  on,  the  question  is,  Who  has  a 
right  to  exercise  this  or  that  function  of  it,  or  what 
men  have  power  to  keep  their  offices  in  any  function  ? 
Whilst  tiiis  contest  continues,  and  whilst  the  balance 
in  any  sort  continues,  it  has  never  any  remission  ;  all 
manner  of  abuses  and  villanies  in  officers  remain  un- 
punished ;  the  greatest  frauds  a.nd  robberies  in  the 
public  revenues  are  committed  in  defiance  of  justice ; 
and  abuses  grow,  by  time  and  impunity,  into  cus- 
toms ;  until  they  prescribe  against  the  laws,  and 
grow  too  inveterate  often  to  admit  a  cure,  unless  such 
as  may  be  as  bad  as  the  disease. 

Thirdly,  the  several  parts  of  this  species  of  govern- 
ment, though  united,  ])rcserve  the  spirit  which  each 
form  has  separately.  Kings  arc  ambitious  ;  the  no- 
bility haughty ;  and  the  populace  tumultuous  and 
ungoveriuible.  Each  party,  however  in  appearance 
pe.accable,  carries  on  a  design  u})on  the  others  ;  and  it 
is  owing  to  this,  that  in  all  questions,  whether  con- 
cerning foreign  or  domestic  affairs,  the  whole  gener- 
ally turns  more  upon  some  party-matter  than  upon 
the  nature  of  the  thing  itself;  wlietlier  such  a  step 
will  diminish  or  augment  the  power  of  the  crown,  or 
how  far  the  privileges  of  the  subject  arc  likely  to  be 
extended  or  restricted  by  it.  And  these  questions 
are  constantly  resolved,  without  any  consideration  of 
the  merits  of  the  cause,  merely  as  the  parties  who 
uphold  these  jarring  interests  may  chance  to  prevail ; 


A    VINDICATION    OF   NATUKAL   SOCIETY.  49 

and  as  they  prevail,  the  balance  is  overset,  now  upon 
one  side,  now  upon  the  other.  The  government  is, 
one  day,  arbitrary  power  in  a  single  person  ;  another, 
a  juggling  confederacy  of  a  few  to  cheat  the  princp 
and  enslave  the  people  ;  and  the  third,  a  frantic  and 
unmanageable  democracy.  The  great  instrument  of 
all  these  changes,  and  what  infuses  a  peculiar  venom 
into  all  of  them,  is  party.  It  is  of  no  consequence 
what  the  principles  of  any  party,  or  what  their  preten- 
sions are  ;  the  spirit  which  actuates  all  parties  is  the 
same ;  the  spirit  of  ambition,  of  self-interest,  of  op- 
pression and  treachery.  This  spirit  entirely  reverses 
all  the  principles  which  a  benevolent  nature  has 
erected  within  us  ;  all  honesty,  all  equal  justice,  and 
even  the  ties  of  natural  society,  the  natural  affections. 
In  a  word,  my  lord,  we  have  all  seen,  and,  if  any  out- 
ward considerations  were  worthy  the  lasting  concern 
of  a  wise  man,  we  have  some  of  us  felt,  such  oppres- 
sion from  party  government  as  no  other  tyranny  can 
parallel.  We  behold  daily  the  most  important  rights, 
rights  upon  which  all  the  others  depend,  we  behold 
these  rights  determined  in  the  last  resort,  without  the 
least  attention  even  to  the  appearance  or  color  of  jus- 
tice ;  Ave  behold  this  without  emotion,  because  we 
have  grown  up  in  the  constant  view  of  such  practices  ; 
and  we  are  not  surprised  to  hear  a  man  requested  to 
be  a  knave  and  a  traitor,  with  as  much  indifference 
as  if  the  most  ordinary  favor  were  asked ;  and  we 
hear  this  request  refused,  not  because  it  is  a  most 
unjust  and  unreasonable  desire,  but  because  this 
worthy  has  already  engaged  his  injustice  to  another. 
These  and  many  more  points  I  am  far  from  spreading 
to  their  full  extent.  You  are  sensible  that  I  do  not 
put  forth  half  my  strength ;  and  you  cannot  be  at  a 

TOL.  I.  4 


50  A    VINDICATION    OP   NATUEAL    SOCIETY. 

loss  for  the  reason.  A  man  is  allowed  sufRcient  free- 
dom of  thought,  provided  he  knows  how  to  choose 
his  subject  properly.  You  may  criticise  freely  upon 
the  Chinese  constitution,  and  observe  with  as  much 
severity  as  you  please  upon  the  absurd  tricks,  or  de- 
structive bigotry  of  the  bonzees.  But  the  scene  is 
changed  as  you  come  homeward,  and  atheism  or  trea- 
son may  be  the  names  given  in  Britain,  to  what  would 
be  reason  and  truth  if  asserted  of  China.  I  submit 
to  the  condition,  and  though  I  have  a  notorious  ad- 
vantage before  me,  I  waive  the  pursuit.  For  else, 
my  lord,  it  is  very  obvious  what  a  picture  might  be 
drawn  of  the  excesses  of  party  even  in  our  own  na- 
tion. I  could  show,  that  the  same  faction  has,  in 
one  reign,  promoted  popular  seditions,  and,  in  the 
next,  been  a  patron  of  tyranny :  I  could  show  that 
they  have  all  of  them  betrayed  the  public  safety  at 
all  times,  and  have  very  frequently  with  equal  perfidy 
made  a  market  of  their  own  cause  and  their  own 
associates.  I  could  show  how  vehemently  they  have 
contended  for  names,  and  how  silently  they  have 
passed  over  things  of  the  last  importance.  And  I 
could  demonstrate  that  they  have  had  the  opportunity 
of  doing  all  this  mischief,  nay,  that  they  themselves 
had  tlieir  origin  and  growth  from  that  complex  form 
of  government,  wliich  we  are  wisely  taught  to  look 
iipon  as  so  great  a  blessing.  Revolve,  my  lord,  our 
history  from  the  Conquest.  We  scarcely  ever  had  a 
prince,  who,  by  fraud  or  violence,  had  not  made  some 
infringoninnt  oiv  the  constitution.  We  scarcely  ever 
had  a  I';irli:imont  wliich  know,  wlion  it  attempted  to 
set  limits  to  the  royal  authority,  how  to  set  limits  to 
its  own.  Evils  we  have  had  continually  calling  for 
reformation,  and  reformations  more  grievous  than  any 


A    VINDICATION   OP  NATURAL   SOCIETY.  51 

evils.  Our  boasted  liberty  sometimes  trodden  down, 
sometimes  giddily  set  up,  and  ever  precariously  fluctu- 
ating and  unsettled  ;  it  has  only  been  kept  alive  by  the 
blasts  of  continual  feuds,  wars,  and  conspiracies.  In 
no  country  in  Europe  has  the  scaffold  so  often  blushed 
with  the  blood  of  its  nobility.  Confiscations,  banish- 
ments, attainders,  executions,  make  a  large  part  of 
the  history  of  such  of  our  families  as  are  not  utterly 
extinguished  by  them.  Formerly,  indeed,  things  had 
a  more  ferocious  appearance  than  they  have  at  this 
day.  In  these  early  and  unrefined  ages,  the  jarring 
part  of  a  certain  chaotic  constitution  supported  their 
several  pretensions  by  the  sword.  Experience  and 
policy  have  since  taught  other  methods. 

At  nunc  res  agitur  tenui  pulmone  rubetse. 

But  how  far  corruption,  venality,  the  contempt  of 
honor,  the  oblivion  of  all  duty  to  our  country,  and 
the  most  abandoned  public  prostitution,  are  prefer- 
able to  the  more  glaring  and  violent  effects  of  faction, 
I  will  not  presume  to  determine.  Sure  I  am  that 
they  are  very  great  evils. 

I  have  done  with  the  forms  of  government.  Dur- 
ing the  course  of  my  inquiry  you  may  have  observed 
a  very  material  difference  between  my  manner  of  rea- 
soning and  that  which  is  in  use  amongst  the  abet- 
tors of  artificial  society.  They  form  their  plans  upon 
what  seems  most  eligible  to  their  imaginations,  for 
the  ordering  of  mankind.  I  discover  the  mistakes  in 
those  plans,  from  the  real  known  consequences  which 
have  resulted  from  them.  They  have  enlisted  reason 
to  fight  against  itself,  and  employ  its  whole  force  to 
prove  that  it  is  an  insufficient  guide  to  them  in  the 
conduct  of  their  lives.  But  unhappily  for  us,  in  pro- 
portion as  we  have  deviated  from  the  plain  rule  of  our 


52  A    VINDICATION    OF   NATURAL    SOCIETY. 

nature,  and  turned  our  reason  against  itself,  in  that 
proportion  have  we  increased  the  follies  and  miseries 
of  mankind.  The  more  deeply  we  penetrate  into  the 
labyrinth  of  art,  the  further  we  find  ourselves  from 
those  ends  for  which  we  entered  it.  This  has  hap- 
pened in  almost  every  species  of  artificial  society,  and 
in  all  times.  We  found,  or  we  thought  we  found,  an 
inconvenience  in  having  every  man  the  judge  of  his 
own  cause.  Therefore  judges  were  set  up,  at  first, 
with  discretionary  powers.  But  it  was  soon  found  a 
miserable  slavery  to  have  our  lives  and  properties  pre- 
carious, and  hanging  upon  the  arbitrary  determina- 
tion of  any  one  man,  or  set  of  men.  We  fled  to  laws 
as  a  remedy  for  this  evil.  By  these  we  persuaded 
ourselves  we  might  know  with  some  certainty  upon 
what  ground  we  stood.  But  lo  !  differences  arose  up- 
on the  sense  and  interpretation  of  these  laws.  Thus 
we  were  brought  back  to  our  old  incertitude.  New 
laws  were  made  to  expound  the  old ;  and  new  diffi 
cvilties  arose  upon  the  new  laws  ;  as  words  multiplied, 
opportunities  of  cavilling  upon  them  multiplied  also. 
Then  recourse  was  had  to  notes,  comments,  glosses, 
reports,  respo)isa prudenticm,  learned  readings:  eagle 
stood  against  eagle :  authority  was  set  up  against 
authority.  Some  were  allured  by  the  modern,  others 
reverenced  the  ancient.  The  new  were  more  enlight- 
ened, the  old  were  more  venerable.  Some  adopted 
the  comment,  others  stuck  to  the  text.  The  confusion 
increased,  the  mist  tliickened,  until  it  could  be  dis- 
covered no  longer  what  was  allowed  or  forbidden, 
what  things  were  in  property,  and  what  common.  In 
this  uncertainty,  (uncertain  even  to  the  professors, 
an  Egyptian  darkness  to  the  rest  of  mankind),  tlie 
contending   parties  felt  themselves  more  circctually 


A    VINDICATION    OF    NATURAL    SOCIETY.  53 

mined  by  the  delay,  than  they  could  have  been  by 
the  injustice  of  any  decision.  Our  inheritances  are 
become  a  prize  for  disputation  ;  and  disputes  and  liti- 
gations are  become  an  inlieritance. 

The  professors  of  artificial  law  have  always  walked 
hand  in  hand  with  the  professors  of  artificial  theology. 
As  their  end,  in  confounding  the  reason  of  man,  and 
abridging  his  natural  freedom,  is  exactly  the  same, 
tliey  have  adjusted  the  means  to  tliat  end  in  a  way 
entirely  similar.  The  divine  thunders  out  his  anath- 
emas with  more  noise  and  terror  against  the  breach 
of  one  of  his  positive  institutions,  or  the  neglect  of 
some  of  his  trivial  forms,  than  against  the  neglect  or 
breach  of  those  duties  and  commandments  of  natural 
religion,  wliich  by  these  forms  and  institutions  he  pre- 
tends to  enforce.  The  lawyer  has  his  forms,  and  his 
positive  institutions  too,  and  he  adheres  to  them  with 
a  veneration  altogether  as  religious.  The  worst  cause 
cannot  be  so  prejudicial  to  the  litigant,  as  his  advo- 
cate's or  attorney's  ignorance  or  neglect  of  these 
forms.  A  lawsuit  is  like  an  ill-managed  dispute,  in 
which  the  first  object  is  soon  out  of  sight,  and  the 
parties  end  upon  a  matter  wholly  foreign  to  that  on 
which  they  began.  In  a  lawsuit  the  question  is,  who 
has  a  right  to  a  certain  liouse  or  farm  ?  And  this 
question  is  daily  determined,  not  upon  the  evidence 
of  the  right,  but  upon  the  observance  or  neglect  of 
some  forms  of  words  in  use  with  the  gentlemen  of  the 
robe,  about  which  there  is  even  amongst  themselves 
such  a  disagreement,  that  the  most  experienced  vet- 
erans in  the  profession  can  never  be  positively  assured 
that  they  are  not  mistaken. 

Let  us  expostulate  with  these  learned  sages,  these 
priests  of  the  sacred  temple  of  justice.    Are  we  judges 


54  A   VINDICATION   OP   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

of  our  own  property  ?  By  no  means.  You  then,  who 
are  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  the  blindfold  god- 
dess, inform  me  whether  I  have  a  right  to  eat  the 
bread  I  have  earned  by  the  hazard  of  my  life  or  the 
sweat  of  my  brow  ?  The  grave  doctor  answers  me  m 
the  affirmative ;  the  reverend  serjeant  replies  in  the 
negative ;  the  learned  barrister  reasons  upon  one  side 
and  upon  the  other,  and  concludes  nothing.  What 
shall  I  do  ?  An  antagonist  starts  up  and  presses  me 
hard.  I  enter  the  field,  and  retain  these  three  per- 
sons to  defend  my  cause.  My  cause,  which  two  farm- 
ers from  the  plough  could  have  decided  in  half  an 
hour,  takes  the  court  twenty  years.  I  am  however  at 
the  end  of  my  labor,  and  have  in  reward  for  all  my 
toil  and  vexation  a  judgment  in  my  favor.  But  hold 
—  a  sagacious  commander,  in  the  adversary's  army, 
has  found  a  flaw  in  the  proceeding.  My  triumph  is 
turned  into  mourning.  I  have  used  or,  instead  of 
and^  or  some  mistake,  small  in  appearance,  but  dread- 
ful in  its  consequences  ;  and  have  the  whole  of  my 
success  quashed  in  a  writ  of  error.  I  remove  my 
suit ;  I  shift  from  court  to  court ;  I  fly  from  equity 
to  law,  and  from  law  to  equity ;  equal  micertainty 
attends  me  everywhere ;  and  a  mistake  in  which  1 
had  no  share,  decides  at  once  upon  my  liberty  and 
property,  sending  me  from  the  court  to  a  prison,  and 
adjudging  my  family  to  beggary  and  famine.  I  am 
innocent,  gentlemen,  of  the  darkness  and  imcertainty 
of  your  science.  I  never  darkened  it  with  absurd  and 
contradictory  notions,  nor  confounded  it  with  chicane 
and  sophistry.  You  have  excluded  me  from  any 
share  in  the  conduct  of  my  own  cause  ;  the  science 
was  too  deep  for  me  ;  I  acknowledged  it ;  but  it  was 
too  deep  even  for  yourselves  :  you  have  made  the  way 


A   VINDICATION   OP  NATURAL   SOCIETY.  55 

SO  intricate,  that  you  are  yourselves  lost  in  it ;  you 
err,  and  you  punish  me  for  your  errors. 

The  delay  of  the  law  is,  your  lordship  will  tell  me, 
a  trite  topic,  and  which  of  its  abuses  have  not  been 
too  severely  felt  not  to  be  complained  of?  A  man's 
property  is  to  serve  for  the  purposes  of  his  support ; 
and  therefore,  to  delay  a  determination  concerning 
that,  is  the  worst  injustice,  because  it  cuts  off  the 
very  end  and  purpose  for  which  I  applied  to  the 
judicature  for  relief.  Quite  contrary  in  the  case  of 
a  man's  life  ;  there  the  determination  can  hardly  be. 
too  much  protracted.  Mistakes  in  this  case  are  as 
often  fallen  into  as  many  other  ;  and  if  the  judgment 
is  sudden,  the  mistakes  are  the  most  irretrievable  of 
all  others.  Of  this  the  gentlemen  of  the  robe  are 
themselves  sensible,  and  they  have  brought  it  into  a 
maxim.  Be  morte  hominis  nulla  est  cimctatio  long  a. 
But  what  could  have  induced  them  to  reverse  the 
rules,  and  to  contradict  that  reason  which  dictated 
them,  I  am  utterly  unable  to  guess.  A  point  con- 
cerning property,  which  ought,  for  the  reasons  I  have 
just  mentioned,  to  be  most  speedily  decided,  fre- 
quently exercises  the  wit  of  successions  of  lawyers, 
for  many  generations.  Multa  virdm  volvens  durando 
scecula  vincit.  But  the  question  concerning  a  man's 
life,  that  great  question  in  which  no  delay  ought  to 
be  counted  tedious,  is  commonly  determined  in 
twenty-four  hours  at  the  utmost.  It  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at,  that  injustice  and  absurdity  should  be 
inseparable  companions. 

Aslc  of  politicians  the  end  for  which  laws  were  orig' 
inally  designed  ;  and  they  will  answer,  that  the  laws 
were  designed  as  a  protection  for  the  poor  and  weak, 
against   the   oppression   of  the   rich   and  powerful 


56  A   VINDICATION   OF  NATUEAL   SOCIETY. 

But  surely  no  pretence  can  be  so  ridiculous  ;  a  man 
might  as  well  tell  me  he  has  taken  off  my  load,  be- 
cause he  has  changed  the  burden.  If  the  poor  man 
is  not  able  to  support  his  suit,  according  to  the  vex- 
atious and  expensive  manner  established  in  civilized 
countries,  has  not  the  rich  as  great  an  advantage 
over  him  as  the  strong  has  over  the  weak  in  a  state 
of  nature  ?  But  we  will  not  place  the  state  of  na- 
ture, which  is  the  reign  of  God,  in  competition  with 
political  society,  which  is  the  absurd  usurpation  of 
man.  In  a  state  of  nature,  it  is  true  that  a  man  of 
superior  force  may  beat  or  rob  me  ;  but  then  it  is 
true,  that  I  am  at  full  liberty  to  defend  inyself,  or 
make  reprisal  by  surprise  or  by  cunning,  or  by  any 
other  way  in  which  I  may  be  superior  to  him.  But 
in  political  society,  a  rich  man  may  rob  me  in  an- 
other way.  I  cannot  defend  myself;  for  money  is 
the  only  weapon  with  which  we  are  allowed  to  fight. 
And  if  I  attempt  to  avenge  myself  the  whole  force  of 
that  society  is  ready  to  complete  my  ruin. 

A  good  parson  once  said,  that  where  mystery  be- 
gins, religion  ends.  Cannot  I  say,  as  truly  at  least, 
of  human  laws,  that  where  mystery  begins,  justice 
ends  ?  It  is  hard  to  say,  whether  the  doctors  of  law 
or  divinity  have  made  the  greater  advances  in  the 
lucrative  business  of  mystery.  The  lawyers,  as  well 
as  the  theologians,  have  erected  another  reason  be- 
sides natural  reason ;  and  the  result  bas  been,  an- 
other justice  besides  natural  justice.  I'licy  have  so 
bewildered  tbe  world  and  tliemselvcs  in  unmeaning 
forms  and  ceremonies,  and  so  perplexed  the  plainest 
matters  with  metaj)bysical  jargon,  that  it  carries  the 
higliest  danger  to  a  man  out  of  that  profession,  to 
make  the   least  step  without  their  advice    and  as- 


A   VINDICATION    OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  57 

Bistancc.  Thus,  by  confining  to  thenivselves  the 
knowledge  of  the  foundation  of  all  men's  lives  and 
properties,  they  have  reduced  all  mankind  into  tlie 
most  abject  and  servile  dependence.  We  are  ten- 
ants at  the  will  of  these  gentlemen  for  everything  ; 
and  a  metaphysical  quibble  is  to  decide  whether  the 
greatest  villain  breathing  shall  meet  his  deserts,  or 
escape  with  impunity,  or  whether  the  best  man  in 
the  society  shall  not  be  reduced  to  the  lowest  and  most 
despicable  condition  it  affords.  In  a  word,  my  lord, 
the  injustice,  delay,  puerility,  false  refinement,  and 
affected  mystery  of  the  law  are  such,  that  many  who 
live  under  it  come  to  admire  and  envy  the  expedi- 
tion, simplicity,  and  equality  of  arbitrary  judgments. 
I  need  insist  the  less  on  this  article  to  your  lordship, 
as  you  have  frequently  lamented  the  miseries  derived 
to  us  from  artificial  law,  and  your  candor  is  the  more 
to  be  admired  and  applauded  in  this,  as  your  lord- 
ship's noble  house  has  derived  its  wealth  and  its 
honors  from  that  profession. 

Before  we  finish  our  examination  of  artificial  soci- 
ety, I  shall  lead  your  lordship  into  a  closer  consider- 
ation of  the  relations  which  it  gives  birth  to,  and  the 
benefits,  if  such  they  are,  which  result  from  these  re- 
lations. The  most  obvious  division  of  society  is  into 
rich  and  poor ;  and  it  is  no  less  obvious,  that  the 
number  of  the  former  bear  a  great  disproportion  to 
those  of  the  latter.  The  whole  business  of  the  poor 
is  to  administer  to  the  idleness,  folly,  and  luxury  of 
the  rich  ;  and  that  of  the  rich,  in  return,  is  to  find 
the  best  methods  of  confirming  the  slavery  and  in- 
creasing the  burdens  of  the  poor.  In  a  state  of  na- 
ture, it  is  an  invariable  law,  that  a  man's  acquisitions 
are  in  proportion  to  his  labors.    In  a  state  of  artificial 


58  A   VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

society,  it  is  a  law  as  constant  and  as  invariable,  that 
those  who  labor  most  enjoy  the  fewest  things ;  and 
that  those  who  labor  not  at  all  have  the  greatest  num- 
ber of  enjoyments.  A  constitution  of  things  this, 
strange  and  ridiculous  beyond  expression  !  We  scarce 
believe  a  thing  when  we  are  told  it,  which  we  actu- 
ally see  before  our  eyes  every  day  without  being  in 
the  least  surprised.  I  suppose  that  there  are  in 
Great  Britain  upwards  of  a  hundred  thousand  people 
employed  in  lead,  tin,  iron,  copper,  and  coal  mines ; 
these  unhappy  wretches  scarce  ever  see  the  light  of 
the  sun  ;  they  are  buried  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth  ; 
there  they  work  at  a  severe  and  dismal  task,  without 
the  least  prospect  of  being  delivered  from  it ;  they 
subsist  upon  the  coarsest  and  worst  sort  of  fare  ;  they 
have  their  health  miserably  impaired,  and  their  lives 
cut  short,  by  being  perpetually  confined  in  the  close , 
vapor  of  these  malignant  minerals.  A  hundred  thou- 
sand more  at  least  are  tortured  without  remission  by 
the  suffocating  smoke,  intense  fires,  and  constant 
drudgery  necessary  in  refining  and  managing  the 
products  of  those  mines.  If  any  man  informed  us 
that  two  hundred  thousand  innocent  persons  were 
condemned  to  so  intolerable  slavery,  how  should  we 
pity  the  unhappy  sufferers,  and  how  great  would  be 
our  just  indignation  against  those  wlio  inllictcd  so 
cruel  and  ignominious  a  punishment !  This  is  an  in- 
stance—  I  could  not  wish  a  stronger — of  the  num- 
berless things  which  we  pass  by  in  their  common 
dress,  yet  which  shock  us  when  they  are  nakedly  rep- 
resented. But  tliis  number,  considerable  as  it  is,  and 
the  slavery,  with  all  its  baseness  and  horror,  wliich 
we  liavc  at  home,  is  nothing  to  what  the  rest  of  the 
world   affords  of  the  same    nature.     Millions   daily 


A   VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  59 

bathed  in  the  poisonous  clamps  and  destructive  efflu- 
via of  lead,  silver,  copper,  and  arsenic.  To  say  noth- 
ing of  those  other  employments,  those  stations  of 
wretchedness  and  contempt,  in  .which  civil  society 
has  placed  the  numerous  enfans  perdus  of  her  army. 
Would  any  rational  man  submit  to  one  of  the  most 
tolerable  of  these  drudgeries,  for  all  the  artificial  en- 
joyments which  policy  has  made  to  result  from  them  ? 
By  no  means.  And  yet  need  I  suggest  to  your  lord- 
ship, that  those  who  find  the  means,  and  those  who 
arrive  at  the  end,  are  not  at  all  the  same  persons  ? 
On  considering  the  strange  and  unaccountable  fan- 
cies and  contrivances  of  artificial  reason,  I  have  some- 
where called  this  earth  the  Bedlam  of  our  system. 
Looking  now  upon  the  effects  of  some  of  those  fan- 
cies, may  we  not  with  equal  reason  call  it  likewise 
the  Newgate  and  the  Bridewell  of  the  universe  ?  In- 
deed the  blindness  of  one  part  of  mankind  co-operat- 
ing with  the  frenzy  and  villany  of  the  other,  has  been 
the  real  builder  of  this  respectable  fabric  of  political 
society :  and  as  the  blindness  of  mankind  has  caused 
their  slavery,  in  return  their  state  of  slavery  is  made 
a  pretence  for  continuing  them  in  a  state  of  blind- 
ness ;  for  the  politician  will  tell  you  gravely,  that 
their  life  of  servitude  disqualifies  the  greater  part  of 
the  race  of  man  for  a  search  of  truth,  and  supplies 
them  with  no  other  than  mean  and  insufficient  ideas. 
This  is  but  too  true ;  and  this  is  one  of  the  reasons 
for  which  I  blame  such  institutions. 

In  a  misery  of  this  sort,  admitting  some  few  leni- 
tives, and  those  too  but  a  few,  nine  parts  in  ten  of  the 
whole  race  of  mankind  drudge  through  life.  It  may 
be  urged  perhaps,  in  palliation  of  this,  that  at  least 
the  rich  few  find  a  considerable  and  real  benefit  from 


60  A    VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

the  wretchedness  of  the  many.  But  is  this  so  in  fact  ? 
Let  us  examine  the  point  with  a  little  more  attention. 
For  this  purpose  the  rich  in  all  societies  may  be 
thrown  into  two  classes.  The  first  is  of  those  who  are 
powerful  as  well  as  rich,  and  conduct  the  operations 
of  the  vast  political  machine.  The  other  is  of  those 
who  employ  their  riches  wholly  in  the  acquisition  of 
pleasure.  As  to  the  first  sort,  their  continual  care 
and  anxiety,  their  toilsome  days,  and  sleepless  nights, 
are  next  to  proverbial.  These  circumstances  are  suf- 
ficient almost  to  level  their  condition  to  that  of  the 
unhappy  majority ;  but  there  are  other  circumstances 
which  place  them  in  a  far  lower  condition.  Not  only 
their  understandings  labor  continually,  which  is  the 
severest  labor,  but  their  hearts  are  torn  by  the  worst, 
most  troublesome,  and  insatiable  of  all  passions,  by 
avarice,  by  ambition,  by  fear  and  jealousy.  No  part 
of  the  mind  has  rest.  Power  gradually  extirpates 
from  the  mind  every  humane  and  gentle  virtue.  Pity, 
benevolence,  friendship,  are  things  almost  unknown 
in  high  stations.  Verce  amicitice  rarissime  inveniwutiir 
in  Us  qui  in  honoribus  reqiie  puhlica  versantur,  says 
Cicero.  And  indeed  courts  are  the  schools  where 
cruelty,  pride,  dissimulation,  and  treachery  are  stud- 
ied and  taught  in  the  most  vicious  perfection.  This 
is  a  point  so  clear  and  acknowledged,  that  if  it  did 
not  make  a  necessary  part  of  my  subject,  I  should 
pass  it  by  entirely.  And  this  has  hindered  me  from 
drawing  at  full  length,  and  in  tlie  most  striking  col- 
ors, this  shocking  picture  of  the  degeneracy  and 
wnitchcdness  of  human  nature,  in  that  part  wliich  is 
vulgarly  thought  its  happiest  and  most  amiable  state. 
You  know  from  what  originals  I  could  copy  such 
pictures.     Happy  arc  they  who  know  enough  of  them 


A    VINDICATION   OP   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  61 

to  know  the  little  value  of  the  possessors  of  such 
things,  and  of  all  that  they  possess ;  and  happy  they 
who  have  been  snatched  from  that  post  of  danger 
which  they  occupy,  with  the  remains  of  their  virtue ; 
loss  of  honors,  wealth,  titles,  and  even  the  loss  of 
one's  country,  is  nothing  in  balance  with  so  great  an 
advantage. 

Let  us  now  view  the  other  species  of  the  rich,  those 
who  devote  their  time  and  fortunes  to  idleness  and 
pleasure.  How  much  happier  are  they  ?  The  pleas- 
ures which  are  agreeable  to  nature  are  within  the 
reach  of  all,  and  therefore  can  form  no  distinction  in 
favor  of  the  rich.  The  pleasures  which  art  forces  up 
are  seldom  sincere,  and  never  satisfying.  What  is 
worse,  this  constant  application  to  pleasure  takes 
away  from  the  enjoyment,  or  rather  turns  it  into  the 
nature  of  a  very  burdensome  and  laborious  business. 
It  has  consequences  much  more  fatal.  It  produces 
a  weak  valetudinary  state  of  body,  attended  by  all 
those  horrid  disorders,  and  yet  more  horrid  methods 
of  cure,  which  are  the  result  of  luxury  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  weak  and  ridiculous  efforts  of  human 
art  on  the  other.  The  pleasures  of  such  men  are 
scarcely  felt  as  pleasures ;  at  the  same  time  that  they 
bring  on  pains  and  diseases,  which  are  felt  but  too 
severely.  The  mind  has  its  share  of  the  misfortune  ; 
it  grows  lazy  and  enervate,  unwilling  and  unable  to 
search  for  truth,  and  utterly  uncapable  of  knowing, 
much  less  of  relishing,  real  happiness.  The  poor  by 
their  excessive  labor,  and  the  rich  by  their  enormous 
luxury,  are  set  upon  a  level,  and  rendered  equally 
ignorant  of  any  knowledge  which  might  conduce  to 
their  happiness.  A  dismal  view  of  the  interior  of  all 
civil  society !    The  lower  part  broken  and  ground  down 


62  A   VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

by  the  most  cruel  oppression  ;  and  the  rich  by  their 
artificial  method  of  life  bringing  worse  evils  on  them- 
selves than  their  tyranny  could  possibly  inflict  on  those 
below  them.  Very  different  is  the  prospect  of  the  nat- 
ural state.  Here  there  are  no  wants  which  nature 
gives,  and  in  this  state  men  can  be  sensible  of  no 
other  wants,  which  are  not  to  be  supplied  by  a  very 
moderate  degree  of  labor ;  therefore  there  is  no  sla- 
very. Neither  is  there  any  luxury,  because  no  sin- 
gle man  can  supply  the  materials  of  it.  Life  is  simple, 
and  therefore  it  is  happy. 

I  am  conscious,  my  lord,  that  your  politician  will 
urge  in  his  defence,  that  this  unequal  state  is  highly 
useful.  That  without  dooming  some  part  of  mankind 
to  extraordinary  toil,  the  arts  which  cultivate  life 
could  not  be  exercised.  But  I  demand  of  this  poli- 
tician, how  such  arts  came  to  be  necessary  ?  He  an- 
swers, that  civil  society  could  not  well  exist  without 
them.  So  that  these  arts  are  necessary  to  civil  soci- 
ety, and  civil  society  necessary  again  to  these  arts. 
Thus  are  we  running  in  a  circle,  without  modesty, 
and  without  end,  and  making  one  error  and  extrava- 
gance an  excuse  for  the  other.  My  sentiments  about 
these  arts  and  their  cause,  I  have  often  discoursed 
with  my  friends  at  large.  Pope  has  expressed  them 
in  good  verse,  where  he  talks  with  so  much  force  of 
reason  and  elegance  of  language,  in  praise  of  the 
state  of  nature : 

"  Then  was  not  pride,  nor  arts  that  pride  to  aid, 
Man  walked  with  beast,  joint  tenant  of  the  shade." 

On  the  whole,  my  lord,  if  political  society,  in  what- 
ever form,  has  still  made  the  many  the  property  of  the 
few ;  if  it  has  introduced  labors  unnecessary,  vices 
and  diseases  unknown,  and   pleasures  incompatible 


A   VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  63 

With  nature  ;  if  in  all  countries  it  abridges  the  lives  of 
millions,  and  renders  those  of  millions  more  utterly 
abject  and  miserable,  shall  we  still  worship  so  destruc- 
tive an  idol,  and  daily  sacrifice  to  it  our  health,  our 
liberty,  and  our  peace  ?  Or  shall  we  pass  by  this  mon- 
strous heap  of  absurd  notions,  and  abominable  prac- 
tices, thinking  we  have  sufficiently  discharged  our 
duty  in  exposing  the  trifling  cheats,  and  ridiculous 
juggles  of  a  few  mad,  designing,  or  ambitious  priests  ? 
Alas  !  my  lord,  we  labor  under  a  mortal  consumption, 
whilst  we  are  so  anxious  about  the  cure  of  a  sore  fin- 
ger. For  has  not  this  leviathan  of  civil  power  over- 
flowed the  earth  with  a  deluge  of  blood,  as  if  he  were 
made  to  disport  and  play  therein  ?  We  have  shown 
that  political  society,  on  a  moderate  calculation,  has 
been  the  means  of  murdering  several  times  the  num- 
ber of  inhabitants  now  upon  the  earth,  during  its 
short  existence,  not  upwards  of  four  thousand  years 
in  any  accounts  to  be  depended  on.  But  we  have 
said  nothing  of  the  other,  and  perhaps  as  bad,  conse- 
quence of.  these  wars,  which  have  spilled  such  seas  of 
blood,  and  reduced  so  many  millions  to  a  merciless 
slavery.  But  these  are  only  the  ceremonies  performed 
in  the  porch  of  the  political  temple.  Much  more  hor- 
rid ones  are  seen  as  you  enter  it.  The  several  species 
of  government  vie  with  each  other  in  the  absurdity 
of  their  constitutions,  and  the  oppression  which  they 
make  their  subjects  endure.  Take  them  under  what 
form  you  please,  they  are  in  effect  but  a  despotism, 
and  they  fall,  both  in  effect  and  appearance  too,  after 
a  very  short  period,  into  that  cruel  and  detestable  spe- 
cies of  tyranny  :  which  I  rather  call  it,  because  we  have 
been  educated  under  another  form,  than  that  this  is 
of  worse  consequences  to  mankind.    For  the  free  gov. 


64  A   VINDICATION   OF   NATURAL   SOCIETY. 

ernments,  for  the  point  of  their  space,  and  the  mo- 
ment of  their  duration,  liave  felt  more  confusion,  and 
committed  more  flagrant  acts  of  tyranny,  than  the 
most  perfect  despotic  governments  which  we  have 
ever  known.  Turn  yoiir  eye  next  to  the  labyrinth 
of  the  law,  and  the  iniquity  conceived  in  its  intri- 
cate recesses.  Consider  the  ravages  committed  in  the 
bowels  of  all  commonwealths  by  ambition,  by  avarice, 
envy,  fraud,  open  injustice,  and  pretended  friendship  ; 
vices  which  could  draw  little  support  from  a  state  of 
nature,  but  which  blossom  and  flourish  in  the  rank- 
ness  of  political  society.  Revolve  our  whole  discourse ; 
add  to  it  all  tliose  reflections  which  your  own  good 
understanding  shall  suggest,  and  make  a  strenuous 
eflbrt  beyond  the  reach  of  vulgar  philosophy,  to  con- 
fess that  the  cause  of  artificial  society  is  more  de- 
fenceless even  than  that  of  artificial  religion  ;  that  it 
is  as  derogatory  from  the  honor  of  the  Creator,  as  sub- 
versive of  human  reason,  and  productive  of  infinitely 
more  mischief  to  the  human  race. 

If  pretended  revelations  have  caused  wars  where 
they  were  opposed,  and  slavery  where  they  were  re- 
ceived, the  pretended  wise  inventions  of  politicians 
have  done  the  same.  But  the  slavery  has  been  much 
heavier,  the  wars  far  more  bloody,  and  both  more 
universal  by  many  degrees.  Show  me  any  mischief 
produced  by  the  madness  or  wickedness  of  theolo- 
gians, and  I  will  sliow  you  a  hundred  resulting 
from  the  amliition  and  villany  of  conquerors  and 
statesmen.  Sbovv  me  an  absurdity  in  religion,  and  I 
will  undertake  to  show  you  a  hundred  for  one  in  po- 
litical laws  and  institutions.  If  you  sjiy  that  natural 
religion  is  a  sufliciont  guide  witliout  the  foreign  aid 
of  revelation,  on  what  principU;  sbould  political  laws 


A    VINDICATION   OP   NATURAL   SOCIETY.  65 

become  necessary  ?  Is  not  the  same  reason  available 
in  theology  and  in  politics  ?  If  the  laws  of  natnre  are 
the  laws  of  God,  is  it  consistent  with  the  Divine  wis- 
dom to  prescribe  rules  to  us,  and  leave  tlie  enforce- 
ment of  them  to  the  folly  of  human  institutions  ? 
Will  you  follow  truth  but  to  a  certain  point  ? 

We  are  indebted  for  all  our  miseries  to  our  distrust 
of  that  guide  which  Providence  thought  sufficient  for 
our  condition,  our  own  natural  reason,  whicli  reject- 
ing both  in  human  and  divine  things,  we  have  given 
our  necks  to  the  yoke  of  political  and  theological  sla- 
very. We  liave  renounced  the  prerogative  of  man, 
and  it  is  no  wonder  that  we  should  be  treated  like 
beasts.  But  our  misery  is  much  greater  than  theirs, 
as  the  crime  we  commit  in  rejecting  the  lawful  do- 
minion of  our  reason  is  greater  than  any  which  they 
can  commit.  If,  after  all,  you  should  confess  all  these 
things,  yet  plead  the  necessity  of  political  institutions, 
weak  and  wicked  as  they  are,  I  can  argue  with  equal, 
perliaps  superior,  force,  concerning  the  necessity  of 
artificial  religion  ;  and  every  step  you  advance  in 
your  argument,  you  add  a  strengtli  to  mine.  So  that 
if  we  are  resolved  to  submit  our  reason  and  our  lib- 
erty to  civil  usurpation,  we  have  nothing  to  do  but 
to  conform  as  quietly  as  we  can  to  the  vulgar  notions 
which  are  connected  with  this,  and  take  up  the  the- 
ology of  the  vulgar  as  well  as  their  politics.  But  if 
we  think  this  necessity  rather  imaginary  than  real, 
we  should  renounce  tlieir  dreams  of  society,  together 
with  their  visions  of  religion,  and  vindicate  ourselves 
into  perfect  liberty. 

You  are,  my  lord,  but  just  entering  into  the  world  ; 
I  am  going  out  of  it.  I  have  played  long  enough  to 
be  heartily  tired  of  the  drama.    Whether  I  have  acted 

VOL.    I.  5 


66  A    VINDICATION    OP   NATURAL    SOCIETY. 

my  part  iu  it  well  or  ill,  posterity  will  judge  with 
more  candor  than  I,  or  than  the  present  age,  with 
our  present  passions,  can  possibly  pretend  to.  For 
my  part,  I  quit  it  without  a  sigh,  and  submit  to  the 
sovereign  order  without  murmuring.  The  nearer  we 
approach  to  the  goal  of  life,  the  better  we  begin  to 
understand  the  true  value  of  our  existence,  and  the 
real  weight  of  our  opinions.  We  set  out  much  in 
love  with  both  ;  but  we  leave  much  behmd  us  as  we 
advance.  We  first  throw  away  the  tales  along  with 
the  rattles  of  our  nurses :  those  of  the  priest  keep 
tlieir  hold  a  little  longer  ;  those  of  our  governors  the 
longest  of  all.  But  the  passions  which  prop  these 
opinions  are  withdrawn  one  after  another ;  and  the 
cool  light  of  reason,  at  the  setting  of  our  life,  shows 
us  what  a  false  splendor  played  upon  these  objects 
during  our  more  sanguine  seasons.  Happy,  my  lord, 
if  instructed  by  my  experience,  and  even  by  my  errors, 
you  come  early  to  make  such  an  estimate  of  things,  as 
may  give  freedom  and  ease  to  your  life.  I  am  happy 
that  such  an  estimate  promises  me  comfort  at  my 
death. 


PHILOSOPHICAL  INQUIRY 

INTO  THE  ORIGIN  OF  OUR  IDEAS  OF 

THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 


WITH 


AN  INTRODUCTORY  DISCOURSE 


CONCERNING 


TASTE, 

AND   SEVERAL   OTHER  ADDITIONS. 


\*  The  first  edition  of  this  work  was  published  in  1756;    the  second, 
with  large  additions,  in  the  year  1757. 


PREFACE. 


I  HA  YE  endeavored  to  make  this  edition  some- 
thing more  full  and  satisfactory  than  the  first.  I 
have  sought  with  the  utmost  care,  and  read  with 
equal  attention,  everything  which  has  appeared  in 
public  against  my  opinions  ;  I  have  taken  advantage 
of  the  candid  liberty  of  my  friends  ;  and  if  by  these 
means  I  have  been  better  enabled  to  discover  the 
imperfections  of  the  work,  the  indulgence  it  has 
received,  imperfect  as  it  was,  furnished  me  with  a 
new  motive  to  spare  no  reasonable  pains  for  its  im- 
provement. Though  I  have  not  found  sufficient  rea- 
son, or  what  appeared  to  me  sufficient,  for  making 
any  material  change  in  my  theory,  I  have  found  it 
necessary  in  many  places  to  explain,  illustrate,  and 
enforce  it.  I  have  prefixed  an  introductory  dis- 
course concerning  Taste  ;  it  is  a  matter  curious  in 
itself;  and  it  leads  naturally  enough  to  the  princi- 
pal inquiry.  This,  with  the  other  explanations,  has 
made  the  work  considerably  larger ;  and  by  increas- 
ing its  bulk  has,  I  am  afraid,  added  to  its  faults  ;  so 
that  notwithstanding  all  my  attention,  it  may  stand 
in  need  of  a  yet  greater  share  of  indulgence  than  it 
required  at  its  first  appearance. 

They  who  are  accustomed  to  studies  of  this  nature 
will  expect,  and  they  will  allow  too  for  many  faults. 
They  know  that  many  of  the  objects  of  our  inquiry 


70  PEEFACE. 

are  in  themselves  obscure  and  intricate ;  and  that 
many  others  have  been  rendered  so  by  affected  refine- 
ments, or  false  learning ;  they  know  that  there  are 
many  impediments  in  the  subject,  in  the  prejudices 
of  otliers,  and  even  in  our  own,  that  render  it  a  mat- 
ter of  no  small  difficulty  to  show  in  a  clear  light  the 
genuine  face  of  nature.  They  know  that  whilst  the 
mind  is  intent  on  the  general  scheme  of  things,  some 
particular  parts  must  be  neglected  ;  that  we  must 
often  submit  the  style  to  the  matter,  and  frequently 
give  up  the  praise  of  elegance,  satisfied  with  being 
clear. 

The  characters  of  nature  are  legible,  it  is  true ; 
but  they  are  not  plain  enough  to  enable  those  who 
run,  to  read  them.  "We  must  make  use  of  a  cau- 
tious, I  had  almost  said,  a  timorous  method  of  pro- 
ceeding. We  must  not  attempt  to  fly,  when  we  can 
scarcely  pretend  to  creep.  In  considering  dny  com- 
plex matter,  we  ought  to  examine  every  distinct 
ingredient  in  the  composition,  one  by  one ;  and  re- 
duce everything  to  the  utmost  simplicity  ;  since  the 
condition  of  our  nature  binds  us  to  a  strict  law 
and  very  narrow  limits.  We  ought  afterwards  to 
re-examine  the  principles  by  the  effect  of  the  com- 
position, as  well  as  the  composition  by  that  of  the 
principles.  We  ought  to  compare  our  subject  with 
things  of  a  similar  nature,  and  even  with  things  of 
a  contrary  nature  ;  for  discoveries  may  be,  and  often 
are  made  by  the  contrast,  which  would  escape  us  on 
the  single  view.  The  greater  number  of  the  com- 
parisons we  make,  the  more  general  and  the  more 
certain  our  knowledge  is  likely  to  prove,  as  built 
upon  a  more  extensive  and  perfect  induction. 

If  !in  inquiry  tiius  carefully  conducted  should  fail 


PREFACE.  71 

at  last  of  discovering  the  truth,  it  may  answer  an  end 
perhaps  as  useful,  in  discovering  to  us  the  weakness  of 
our  own  understanding.  If  it  does  not  make  us  know- 
ing, it  may  make  us  modest.  If  it  does  not  preserve 
us  from  error,  it  may  at  least  from  the  spirit  of  error  ; 
and  may  make  us  cautious  of  pronouncing  with  posi- 
tiveness  or  with  haste,  when  so  much  labor  may  end 
in  so  much  uncertainty. 

I  could  wish  that,  in  examining  this  theory,  the 
same  method  were  pursued  which  I  endeavored  to 
observe  in  forming  it.  The  objections,  in  my  opin- 
ion, ought  to  be  proposed,  either  to  the  several  prin- 
ciples as  they  are  distinctly  considered,  or  to  the 
justness  of  the  conclusion  which  is  drawn  from  them. 
But  it  is  common  to  pass  over  both  the  premises  and 
conclusion  in  silence,  and  to  produce,  as  an  objec- 
tion, some  poetical  passage  which  does  not  seem 
easily  accounted  for  upon  the  principles  I  endeavor 
to  establish.  This  manner  of  proceeding  I  should 
think  very  improper.  The  task  would  be  infinite,  if 
we  could  establish  no  principle  until  we  had  pre- 
viously unravelled  the  complex  texture  of  every 
image  or  description  to  be  found  in  poets  and  ora- 
tors. And  though  we  should  never  be  able  to  rec- 
oncile the  effect  of  such  images  to  our  principles, 
this  can  never  overturn  the  theory  itself,  whilst  it  is 
founded  on  certain  and  indisputable  facts.  A  theory 
founded  on  experiment,  and  not  assumed,  is  always 
good  for  so  much  as  it  explains.  Our  inability  to 
push  it  indefinitely  is  no  argument  at  all  against  it. 
This  inability  may  be  owing  to  our  ignorance  of  some 
necessary  mediums  ;  to  a  want  of  proper  application  ; 
to  many  other  causes  besides  a  defect  in  the  princi- 
ples we  employ.     In  reality,  the  subject  requires  a 


12  PREFACE. 

much  closer  attention  than  we  dare  claim  from  our 
manner  of  treating  it. 

If  it  should  not  appear  on  the  face  of  the  work,  1 
must  caution  the  reader  against  imagining  that  I  in- 
tended a  full  dissertation  on  the  Sublime  and  Beau- 
tiful. My  inquiry  went  no  farther  than  to  the  origin 
of  these  ideas.  If  the  qualities  which  I  have  ranged 
under  the  head  of  the  Sublime  be  all  found  consistent 
with  each  other,  and  all  different  from  those  which  I 
place  under  the  head  of  Beauty  ;  and  if  those  which 
compose  the  class  of  the  Beautiful  have  the  same 
consistency  with  themselves,  and  the  same  opposition 
to  those  which  are  classed  under  the  denomhiation  of 
Sublime,  I  am  in  little  pahi  whether  anybody  chooses 
to  follow  the  name  I  give  them  or  not,  provided  he 
allows  that  what  I  dispose  under  different  heads  are 
in  reality  different  things  in  nature.  The  use  I 
make  of  the  words  may  be  blamed,  as  too  confined 
or  too  extended  ;  my  meanmg  cannot  well  be  mis- 
understood. 

To  conclude :  whatever  progress  may  bo  made 
towards  the  discovery  of  truth  in  this  matter,  I  do 
not  repent  the  pains  I  have  taken  in  it.  The  use  of 
such  inquiries  may  be  very  considerable.  Whatever 
turns  the  soul  inward  on  itself,  tends  to  concentre  its 
forces,  and  to  fit  it  for  greater  and  stronger  flights  of 
science.  By  looking  into  physical  causes  our  minds 
are  opened  and  enlarged  ;  and  in  this  pursuit,  wlietli- 
cr  we  take  or  whether  we  lose  our  game,  the  chase  is 
certainly  nf  service.  Cicero,  true  as  he  was  to  the 
academic  philosophy,  and  consequently  led  to  reject 
the  certainty  of  ])bysical,  as  of  every  other  kind  of 
knowledge,  yet  freely  conlesses  its  great  imjiortanco 
to  tlie  Iiuniiin   uuder^tanding :   ^^  Ust  animorian  inge- 


PREFACE.  73 

niorumque  nostrorum  naturale  quoddam  quasi  pahdum 
consideratio  eontemplatioque  naturce.''^  If  we  can  di 
rect  the  lights  we  derive  from  such  exalted  specula- 
tions upon  the  humbler  field  of  the  imagination, 
whilst  we  investigate  the  springs,  and  trace  the 
courses  of  our  passions,  we  may  not  only  commu- 
nicate to  the  taste  a  sort  of  philosophical  solidity,  but 
we  may  reflect  back  on  the  severer  sciences  some  of 
the  graces  and  elegances  of  taste,  without  which  the 
greatest  proficiency  in  those  sciences  will  always  have 
the  appearance  of  something  illiberal. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
Introduction  :    On  Taste        ....••      79 

PART    I. 

BSCT. 

I.   Novelty 101 

n.  Pain  and  Pleasure         .         .         .         .         .         .          102 

III.  The  Difference  between  the  Removal  of  Pain  and  Pos- 

itive Pleasure  .         .         .  ,         .         .         .  104 

IV.  Of  Delight  and  Pleasure,  as  opposed  to  each  other      .     106 
V.   Joy  and  Grief 108 

VI.  Of  the  Passions  which  belong  to  Self-Preservation       .     110 

VII.    Of  the  Sublime 110 

VIII.  Of  the  Passions  which  belong  to  Society    .         .         .111 

IX.  The  Final  Cause  of  the  Difference  between  the  Passions 
belonging  to  Self-Preservation,  and  those  which  re- 
gard the  Society  of  the  Sexes       .         .         .         .113 

X.    Of  Beauty 114 

XL  Society  and  Solitude         .         .         .         .         .          .115 

XII.  Sympathy,  Imitation,  and  Ambition       .         .         .         116 

XIII.  Sympathy 117 

XIV.  The  Effects  of  Sympathy  in  the  Distresses  of  Others        118 
XV.    Of  the  Effects  of  Tragedy 120 

XVI.  Imitation         .         .         .         .         .          .         .         .122 

XVII.  Ambition    ........          123 

XVIII.  The  Recapitulation  .         .         .         .         .         .          .125 

XIX.  The  Conclusion   .......          126 

PART   II. 

I.    Of  the  Passion  caused  by  the  Sublime       ,         .         .130 
n.    Terror  130 


76 


CONTENTS. 


III. 

Obscurity         ........ 

IV. 

Of  the   Difference  between   Clearness  and  Obscurity 

with  regard  to  the  Passions 

[IV.] 

The  Same  Subject  continued         .... 

V. 

Power     .         ...         J         ...         . 

VI. 

Privation 

VII. 

Vastness 

vni. 

Infinity        ........ 

IX. 

Succession  and  Uniformity        .         .         .         .         . 

X. 

Magnitude  in  Building          ..... 

XI. 

Infinity  in  Pleasing  Objects 

xn. 

Difficulty 

xin. 

Magnificence   ........ 

XIV. 

XV. 

Light  in  Building     ....... 

XVI. 

xvn. 

Sound  and  Loudness 

XVIII. 

Suddenness 

XIX. 

Intermitting     ........ 

XX. 

XXI. 

Smell  and  Taste.  —  Bitters  and  Stenches    . 

xxn. 

Feeling.  —  Pain 

132 

133 
134 
138 
146 
147 
148 
"49 
l52 
153 
153 
154 
156 
157 
158 
159 
160 
160 
161 
162 
164 


PART    III. 

I.    Of  Beauty 165 

II.   Proportion  not  the  Cause  of  Beauty  in  Vegetables  166 

III.  Proportion  not  the  Cause  of  Beauty  in  Animals         .  170 

IV.  Proportion  not  the   Cause  of  Beauty  in  the  Human 

Species       ........  172 

V.    Pro[»ortion  further  considered       .         .         .         .  178 

VI.    Fitness  not  the  Cause  of  Beauty       ....  181 

VII.    The  Heal  FfTccta  of  Fitness  ....  184 

VIII.    The  Kccapitulaiion 187 

IX.    Perfection  not  the  Cause  of  Beauty       .         .         .  187 
X.    How  far  the  Idea  of  Beauty  may  be  applied  to  the 

Qualities  of  the  Mind 188 

XI.    IIow  fur  the  Idea  of  Bi-aiity  may  be  a))plic(l  to  Virtue  100 

XII.    The  Real  Cause  of  Beauty  ....  191 


CONTENTS. 

7< 

XIII. 

Beautiful  Objects  Small       .... 

191 

XIV. 

Smoothness    ...... 

.     19.3 

XV. 

Gradual  Variation      ..... 

194 

XVI. 

Delicacy         ...... 

.     195 

XVII. 

Beauty  in  Color          ..... 

196 

XVIII. 

Recapitulation         ..... 

.     197 

XIX. 

The  Physiognomy 

198 

XX. 

The  Eye 

.     198 

XXI. 

Ugliness 

199 

xxn. 

Grace 

.     200 

xxm. 

Elegance  and  Speciousness  .... 

200 

XXIV. 

The  Beautiful  in  Feeling 

.     201 

XXV. 

The  Beautiful  in  Sounds     .... 

203 

XXVI. 

Taste  and  Smell 

.     205 

XX  vn. 

The  Sublime  and  Beautiful  compared  . 
PART    IV. 

205 

I.  Of  the  Efficient  Cause  of  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful  .     208 

n.    Association 209 

m.  Cause  of  Pain  and  Fear .         .         .         .         .         .210 

IV,  Continued           .         .         .         .         .         .         .          212 

V.  How  the  Sublime  is  produced            ....     214 

VI.  How  Pain  can  be  a  Cause  of  Delight   .         .         .          215 

VII.  Exercise  necessary  for  the  Finer  Organs   ,         .         .216 

Vin.  Why  Things  not  Dangerous    sometimes  produce  a 

Passion  like   Terror    .         .         .         .         ,         .217 

IX.  Why  Visual  Objects  of  Great  Dimensions  are  Sublime      217 

X.  Unity,  why  requisite  to  Vastness      .         .         .         .219 

XL    The  Artificial  Infinite 220 

XII.  The  Vibrations  must  be  Similar      ....      222 

XIII.  The  Effects  of  Succession  in  Visual  Objects  explained     222 

XIV.  Locke's  Opinion  concerning  Darkness  considered       .     225 
XV.  Darkness  Terrible  in  its  own  Nature    .         .         .          226 

XVI.    Why  Darkness  is  Terrible 227 

XVII.  The  Effects  of  Blackness     .       '  .         .         .         .          229 

XVIII.  The  Effects  of  Blackness  moderated ....     231 

XIX.  The  Physical  Cause  of  Love        ....          232 

XX.  Why  Smoothness  is  Beautiful           ....     234 


78  CONTENTS. 

XXI.    Sweetness,  its  Nature 235 

XXII.    Sweetness  relaxing  ......  237 

XXIII.  Variation,  why  Beautiful 239 

XXIV.  Concerning  Smallness     ......  240 

XXV.    Of  Color 244 

PART    V. 

I.    Of  Words 246 

n.    The  Common  Effect  of  Poetry,  not  by  raising  Ideas 

of  Things 246 

TH.    General  Words  before  Ideas         ....  249 

IV.    The  Effect  of  Words 250 

V.   Examples   that  Words   may  affect  without   raising 

Images 252 

VI.   Poetry  not  strictly  an  Imitative  Art     .         •         .  257 

Vn.    How  Words  influence  the  Passions  ....  258 


INTRODUCTION. 


ON    TASTE. 

ON  a  superficial  view  we  may  seem  to  differ  very 
widely  from  each  other  in  our  reasonings,  and 
no  less  in  our  pleasures :  but,  notwithstanding  this 
difference,  which  I  think  to  be  rather  apparent  than 
real,  it  is  probable  that  the  standard  both  of  reason 
and  taste  is  the  same  in  all  human  creatures.  For  if 
there  were  not  some  principles  of  judgment  as  well 
as  of  sentiment  common  to  all  mankind,  no  hold 
could  possibly  be  taken  either  on  their  reason  or  their 
passions,  sufficient  to  maintain  the  ordinary  corre- 
spondence of  life.  It  appears,  indeed,  to  be  generally 
acknowledged,  that  with  regard  to  truth  and  false- 
hood there  is  something  fixed.  We  find  people  in 
their  disputes  continually  appealing  to  certain  tests 
and  standards,  which  are  allowed  on  all  sides,  and 
are  supposed  to  be  established  in  our  common  nature. 
But  there  is  not  the  same  obvious  concurrence  in 
any  uniform  or  settled  principles  which  relate  to 
taste.  It  is  even  commonly  supposed  that  this  deli- 
cate and  aerial  faculty,  which  seems  too  volatile  to 
endure  even  the  chains  of  a  definition,  cannot  be 
properly  tried  by  any  test,  nor  regulated  by  any 
standard.  There  is  so  continual  a  call  for  the  exer- 
cise of  the  reasoning  faculty ;  and  it  is  so  much 
strengthened   by  perpetual   contention,  that  certain 


80  INTRODUCTION. 

• 

maxims  of  right  reason  seem  to  be  tacitly  settled 
amongst  tlie  most  ignorant.  The  learned  have  im- 
proved on  this  rude  science,  and  reduced  those  max- 
ims into  a  system.  If  taste  has  not  been  so  happily 
cultivated,  it  was  not  that  the  subject  was  barren,  but 
that  the  laborers  were  few  or  negligent ;  for,  to  say 
the  truth,  there  are  not  the  same  interesting  motives 
to  impel  us  to  fix  the  one,  which  urge  us  to  ascertain 
the  other.  And,  after  all,  if  tien  differ  in  their  opin- 
ion concerning  such  matters,  their  difiference  is  not 
attended  with  the  same  important  consequences  ;  else 
I  make  no  doubt  but  that  the  logic  of  taste,  if  I  may 
be  allowed  the  expression,  might  very  possibly  be  as 
well  digested,  and  we  might  come  to  discuss  matters 
of  this  nature  with  as  much  certainty,  as  those  which 
seem  more  immediately  %vithin  the  province  of  mere 
reason.  And,  indeed,  it  is  very  necessary,  at  the  en- 
trance into  such  an  inquiry  as  our  present,  to  make 
this  point  as  clear  as  possible ;  for  if  taste  has  no 
fixed  principles,  if  the  imagination  is  not  affected  ac- 
cording to  some  invariable  and  certain  laws,  our  la- 
bor is  likely  to  be  employed  to  very  little  purpose  ;  as 
it  must  be  judged  an  useless,  if  not  an  absurd  under- 
taking, to  lay  down  rules  fur  caprice,  and  to  set  up 
for  a  legislator  of  whims  and  fancies. 

The  term  taste,  like  all  other  figurative  terms,  is 
not  extremely  accurate ;  the  thing  which  we  under- 
stand by  it  is  far  from  a  simple  and  determinate  idea 
in  the  minds  of  most  men,  and  it  is  therefore  liable 
to  uncertainty  and  confusion.  I  have  no  great  opin- 
ion of  a  d(!riiiitlon,  the  celebrated  remedy  for  the 
cure  of  tliis  disord(»r.  For,  wlien  we  define,  we  seem 
in  danger  of  circumscribing  nature  within  the  bounds 
of  our  own  notions,  which  we  often  take  up  by  hazard 


ON  TASTE.  81 

or  embrace  on  trust,  or  form  out  of  a  limited  and  par- 
tial consideration  of  the  object  before  us ;  instead  of 
extending  our  ideas  to  take  in  all  that  nature  compre- 
hends, according  to  her  manner  of  combining.  We 
are  limited  in  our  inquiry  by  the  strict  laws  to  which 
we  have  submitted  at  our  setting  out. 

Circa  vilem  patulumque  morabimur  orbem, 
Unde  pudor  profeiyre  pedem  vetat  aut  operis  lex. 

A  definition  may  be  very  exact,  and  yet  go  but  a 
very  little  way  towards  informing  us  of  the  nature  of 
the  thing  defined ;  but  let  the  virtue  of  a  definition 
be  what  it  will,  in  the  order  of  things,  it  seems  rather 
to  follow  than  to  precede  our  inquiry,  of  which  it 
ought  to  be  considered  as  the  result.  It  must  be  ac- 
knowledged that  the  methods  of  disquisition  and 
teaching  may  be  sometimes  different,  and  on  very 
good  reason  undoubtedly ;  but,  for  my  part,  I  am 
convhiced  that  the  method  of  teaching  which  ap- 
proaches most  nearly  to  the  method  of  investigation 
is  incomparably  the  best ;  since,  not  content  with 
serving  up  a  few  barren  and  lifeless  truths,  it  leads  to 
the  stock  on  which  they  grew  ;  it  tends  to  set  the 
reader  himself  in  the  track  of  invention,  and  to  di- 
rect him  into  those  paths  in  whicli  the  author  has 
made  his  own  discoveries,  if  he  should  be  so  happy 
as  to  have  made  any  that  are  valuable. 

But  to  cut  off  all  pretence  for  cavilling,  I  mean  bj 
the  word  taste,  no  more  than  that  faculty  or  those 
faculties  of  the  mind,  which  are  affected  with,  or 
wliich  form  a  judgment  of,  the  works  of  imagination 
and  the  elegant  arts.  This  is,  I  think,  the  most  gen- 
eral idea  of  that  word,  and  what  is  the  least  con- 
nected with  any  particular  theory.     And  my  point  in 

VOL.  I.  6 


82  INTBODUCTION. 

this  inquiry  is,  to  find  whether  there  are  any  princi 
pies,  on  which  the  imagination  is  affected,  so  common 
to  all,  so  grounded  and  certain,  as  to  supply  the 
means  of  reasoning  satisfactorily  about  them.  And 
such  principles  of  taste  I  fancy  there  are  ;  however 
paradoxical  it  may  seem  to  those,  who  on  a  superfi- 
cial view  imagine  that  there  is  so  great  a  diversity  of 
tastes,  both  in  kind  and  degree,  that  nothing  can  be 
more  indeterminate. 

All  the  natural  powers  in  man,  which  I  know,  that 
are  conversant  about  external  objects,  are  the  senses ; 
the  imagination  ;  and  the  judgment.     And  first  with 
regard  to  the  senses.     We  do  and  we  must  suppose, 
that  as  the  conformation  of  their  organs  are  nearly  or 
altogether  the  same  in  all  men,  so  the  manner  of  per- 
ceiving external  objects  is  in  all  men  the  same,  or 
with  little  difference.     We  are  satisfied  that  what  ap- 
pears to  be  light  to  one  eye,  appears  light  to  another ; 
that  what  seems  sweet  to  one  palate,  is  sweet  to  an- 
other ;  that  what  is  dark  and  bitter  to  this  man,  is 
likewise  dark  and  bitter  to  that ;  and  wc  conclude  in 
the  same  manner  of  great  and  little,  liard  and  soft, 
hot  and  cold,  rough  and  smooth ;  and  indeed  of  all 
the  natural  qualities  and  affections  of  bodies.     If  we 
suffer  ourselves  to  imagine,  that  their  senses  present 
to  different  men  different  images  of  things,  this  scep- 
tical proceeding  will  make  every  sort  of  reasoning  on 
every  subject  vain  and  frivolous,  even  that  sceptical 
reasoning  itself  which  liad  persuaded  us  to  entertain 
a  doubt  concerning  the  agreement  of  our  perceptions. 
But  as  there  will  l)e  little  doubt  that  bodies  present 
similar  images  to  the  whole  species,  it  must  necessari- 
ly be  allowed,  that  the  ])leasures  and  the  pains  which 
every  object  excites  in  one  man,  it  must  raise  in  all 


ON   TASTE.  83 

mankind,  whilst  it  operates  naturally,  simply,  and  by 
its  proper  powers  only :  for  if  we  deny  this,  we  must 
imagine  that  the  same  cause,  operating  in  the  same 
manner,  and  on  subjects  of  the  same  kind,  will  pro- 
duce different  effects;  which  would  be  highly  absurd. 
Let  us  first  consider  this  point  in  the  sense  of  taste, 
and  the  rather  as  the  faculty  in  question  has  taken 
its  name  from  that  sense.  All  men  are  agreed  to  call 
vinegar  sour,  honey  sweet,  and  aloes  bitter ;  and  as 
they  are  all  agreed  in  finding  these  qualities  in  those 
objects,  they  do  not  in  the  least  differ  concerning  their 
effects  with  regard  to  pleasure  and  pain.  They  all 
conciir  in  calling  sweetness  pleasant,  and  sourness 
and  bitterness  unpleasant.  Here  there  is  no  diver- 
sity in  their  sentiments ;  and  that  there  is  not, 
appears  fully  from  the  consent  of  all  men  in  the  met- 
aphors which  are  taken  from  the  sense  of  taste.  A 
sour  temper,  bitter  expressions,  bitter  curses,  a  bitter 
fate,  are  terms  well  and  strongly  understood  by  all. 
And  we  are  altogether  as  well  understood  when  we 
say,  a  sweet  disposition,  a  sweet  person,  a  sweet  con- 
dition and  the  like.  It  is  confessed,  that  custom 
and  some  other  causes  have  made  many  deviations 
from  the  natural  pleasures  or  pains  which  belong  to 
these  several  tastes  ;  but  then  the  power  of  distinguish- 
ing between  the  natural  and  the  acquired  relish  re- 
mains to  the  very  last.  A  man  frequently  comes  to 
prefer  the  taste  of  tobacco  to  that  of  sugar,  and  the 
flavor  of  vinegar  to  that  of  milk  ;  but  this  makes  no 
confusion  in  tastes,  whilst  he  is  sensible  that  the  to- 
bacco and  vinegar  are  not  sweet,  and  whilst  he  knows 
that  habit  alone  has  reconciled  his  palate  to  these  alien 
pleasures.  Even  with  such  a  person  we  may  speak, 
and  with  sufficient  precision,  concerning  tastes.     But 


84  INTRODUCTION. 

should  any  man  be  found  who  declares,  that  to  him 
tobacco  has  a  taste  like  sugar,  and  that  he  cannot 
distinguish  between  milk  and  vinegar ;  or  that  to- 
bacco and  vinegar  are  sweet,  milk  bitter,  and  sugar^ 
sour;  we  immediately  conclude  that  the  organs  of 
this  man  are  out  of  order,  and  that  his  palate  is  ut- 
terly vitiated.  We  are  as  far  from  conferring  with 
such  a  person  upon  tastes,  as  from  reasoning  concern- 
ing the  relations  of  quantity  with  one  who  should 
deny  tlrat  all  the  parts  together  were  equal  to  the 
whole.  We  do  not  call  a  man  of  this  kind  wrong  in 
his  notions,  but  absolutely  mad.  Exceptions  of  this 
sort,  in  either  way,  do  not  at  all  impeach  our  general 
rule,  nor  make  us  conclude  that  men  have  various 
principles  concerning  the  relations  of  quantity  or  the 
taste  of  things.  So  that  when  it  is  said,  taste  cannot 
be  disputed,  it  can  only  mean,  that  no  one  can  strict- 
ly answer  what  pleasure  or  pain  some  particular  man 
may  find  from  the  taste  of  some  particular  thing. 
This  indeed  cannot  be  disputed;  but  we  may  dispute, 
and  with  sufficient  clearness  too,  concerning  the 
things  which  are  natiirally  pleasing  or  disagreeable 
to  the  sense.  But  when  we  talk  of  any  peculiar  or 
acquired  relish,  then  we  must  know  the  habits,  the 
prejudices,  or  the  distempers  of  this  particular  man, 
and  we  must  draw  our  conclusion  from  those. 

This  agreement  of  mankind  is  not  confined  to  the 
taste  solely.  The  principle  of  pleasure  derived  from 
sight  is  the  same  in  all.  Liglit  is  more  pleasing  than 
fhirknoss.  Summer,  when  the  earth  is  clad  in  green, 
\vh<!n  the  hi^avens  arc  serene  and  bright,  is  more 
agroeal)lc  than  winter,  when  everything  makes  a 
dilTerent  a})pcaran('(\  I  never  remember  that  any- 
thing beautiful,  whether  a  man,  a  beast,  a  bird,  or  a 


ON  TASTE.  85 

plant,  was  ever  shown,  though  it  wore  to  a  hundred 
people,  that  they  did  not  all  immediately  agree  that 
it  was  beautiful,  though  some  might  have  thought 
that  it  fell  short  of  their  expectation,  or  that  other 
thuigs  were  still  finer.  I  believe  no  man  thinks  a 
goose  to  be  more  beautiful  than  a  swan,  or  imagines 
that  what  they  call  a  Friesland  hen  excels  a  pea- 
cock. It  must  be  observed  too,  that  the  pleasures  of 
the  sight  are  not  near  so  complicated,  and  confused, 
and  altered  by  unnatural  habits  and  associations,  as 
the  pleasures  of  the  taste  are  ;  because  the  pleasures 
of  the  sight  more  commonly  acquiesce  in  themselves  ; 
and  are  not  so  often  altered  by  considerations  which 
are  independent  of  the  sight  itself.  But  things  do 
not  spontaneously  present  themselves  to  the  palate  as 
they  do  to  the  sight ;  they  are  generally  applied  to  it, 
either  as  food  or  as  medicine  ;  and  from  the  qualities 
which  they  possess  for  nutritive  or  medicinal  purposes 
they  often  form  the  palate  by  degrees,  and  by  force 
of  these  associations.  Thus  opium  is  pleasing  to 
Turks,  on  account  of  the  agreeable  delirium  it  pro- 
duces. Tobacco  is  the  delight  of  Dutchmen,  as  it 
diffuses  a  torpor  and  pleasing  stupefaction.  Fer- 
mented spirits  please  our  common  people,  because 
they  banish  care,  and  all  consideration  of  future  or 
present  evils.  All  of  these  would  lie  absolutely  neg- 
lected if  their  properties  had  originally  gone  no 
further  than  the  taste  ;  but  all  these,  together  with 
tea  and  coffee,  and  some  other  things,  have  passed 
from  the  apothecary's  shop  to  our  tables,  and  were 
taken  for  health  long  before  they  were  thought  of  for 
pleasure.  The  effect  of  the  drug  has  made  us  use  it 
frequently ;  and  frequent  use,  com])ined  with  the 
agreeable  effect,  has   made   the  taste   itself  at  last 


86  INTRODUCTION. 

agreeable.  But  this  does  not  in  the  least  perplex 
our  reasoning ;  because-  we  distinguish  to  the  last  the 
acquired  from  the  natural  relish.  In  describing  the 
taste  of  an  unknown  fruit,  you  would  scarcely  say 
that  it  had  a  sweet  and  pleasant  flavor  like  tobacco, 
•ipium,  or  garlic,  although  you  spoke  to  those  who 
were  in  the  constant  use  of  these  drugs,  and  had  great 
pleasure  in  them.  There  is  in  all  men  a  sufficient  re- 
membrance of  the  original  natural  causes  of  pleasure, 
to  enable  them  to  bring  all  things  offered  to  their 
senses  to  that  standard,  and  to  regulate  their  feelings 
and  opinions  by  it.  Suppose  one  who  had  so  vitiated 
his  palate  as  to  take  more  pleasure  in  the  taste  of 
opium  than  in  that  of  butter  or  honey,  to  be  presented 
with  a  bolus  of  squills  ;  there  is  hardly  any  doubt  but 
that  he  would  prefer  the  butter  or  honey  to  this  nau- 
seous morsel,  or  to  any  other  bitter  drug  to  which  he 
had  not  been  accustomed  ;  which  proves  that  his  pal- 
ate was  naturally  like  tliat  of  other  men  in  all  things, 
that  it  is  still  like  the  palate  of  other  men  in  many 
things,  and  only  vitiated  in  some  particular  points. 
For  in  judging  of  any  new  thing,  even  of  a  taste 
similar  to  that  which  he  has  been  formed  by  habit  to 
like,  he  finds  his  palate  affected  in  the  natural  man- 
ner, and  on  the  common  principles.  Thus  the  pleas- 
ure of  all  the  senses,  of  the  sight,  and  even  of  the 
taste,  that  hiost  aml)iguous  of  the  senses,  is  the  same 
in  all,  high  and  low,  learned  and  unlearned. 

Besides  the  ideas,  with  their  annexed  pains  and 
pleasures,  which  are  presented  by  the  sense ;  the 
mind  of  man  possesses  a  sort  of  creative  power  of 
its  own  ;  either  in  representing  at  pleasure  the  im- 
ages of  things  in  the  order  and  manner  in  which  tliey 
were  received  by  the  senses,  or  in  combining  those 


ON   TASTE.  87 

images  in  a  new  manner,  and  according  to  a  different 
order.  This  power  is  called  imagination  ;  and  to  tins 
belongs  whatever  is  called  wit,  fancy,  invention,  and 
the  like.  Bnt  it  must  be  observed,  that  this  power  of 
the  imagination  is  incapable  of  producing  anything 
absohitely  new ;  it  can  only  vary  the  disposition  of 
those  ideas  which  it  has  received  from  the  senses. 
Now  the  imagination  is  the  most  extensive  province 
of  pleasure  and  pain,  as  it  is  the  region  of  our  fears 
and  our  hopes,  and  of  all  our  passions  that  are  con- 
nected with  them  ;  and  whatever  is  calculated  to  af- 
fect the  imagination  with  these  commanding  ideas, 
by  force  of  any  original  natural  impression,  must  have 
the  same  power  pretty  equally  over  all  men.  For 
since  the  imagination  is  only  the  representation  of  the 
senses,  it  can  only  be  pleased  or  displeased  with  the 
images,  from  the  same  principle  on  which  the  sense  is 
pleased  or  displeased  with  the  realities;  and  conse- 
quently there  must  be  just  as  close  an  agreement  in 
the  imaginations  as  in  the  senses  of  men.  A  little  at- 
tention will  convince  us  that  this  must  of  necessity 
be  the  case. 

But  in  the  imagination,  besides  the  pain  or  pleasure 
arising  from  the  properties  of  the  natural  object,  a 
pleasure  is  perceived  from  the  resemblance  which  the 
imitation  has  to  the  original :  the  imagination,  I  con- 
ceive, can  have  no  pleasure  but  what  results  from  one 
or  other  of  these  causes.  And  these  causes  operate 
pretty  uniformly  upon  all  men,  because  they  operate 
by  principles  in  nature,  and  which  are  not  derived 
from  any  particular  habits  or  advantages,  Mr.  Locke 
very  justly  and  finely  observes  of  wit,  that  it  is  chiefly 
conversant  in  tracing  resemblances ;  he  remarks,  at  the 
same  time,  that  the  business  of  judgment  is  rather  in 


88  INTRODUCTION. 

finding  differences.  It  may  perhaps  appear,  on  this 
supposition,  that  there  is  no  material  distinction  be- 
tween the  wit  and  the  judgment,  as  they  both  seem  to 
result  from  different  operations  of  the  same  faculty 
of  comparing.  But  in  reality,  whether  they  are  or  are 
not  dependent  on  the  same  power  of  the  mind,  they 
dififer  so  very  materially  in  many  respects,  that  a  per- 
fect union  of  wit  and  judgment  is  one  of  the  rarest 
things  in  the  world.  When  two  distinct  objects  are 
unlike  to  each  other,  it  is  only  what  we  expect ;  things 
are  in  their  common  way ;  and  therefore  they  make 
no  impression  on  the  imagination :  but  when  two  dis 
tinct  objects  have  a  resemblance,  we  are  struck,  we 
attend  to  them,  and  we  are  pleased.  The  mind  of 
man  has  naturally  a  far  greater  alacrity  and  satisfac- 
tion in  tracing  resemblances  than  in  searching  for  dif- 
ferences :  because  by  making  resemblances  we  produce 
new  images  ;  we  unite,  we  create,  we  enlarge  our  stock ; 
but  in  making  distinctions  we  offer  no  food  at  all  to 
the  imagination  ;  the  taslc  itself  is  more  severe  and  irk- 
some, and  what  pleasure  we  derive  from  it  is  some- 
thing of  a  negative  and  indirect  nature.  A  piece  of 
news  is  told  me  in  the  morning  ;  this,  merely  as  a 
piece  of  news,  as  a  fact  added  to  my  stock,  gives  me 
some  pleasure.  In  the  evening  I  find  there  was  noth- 
ing in  it.  What  do  I  gain  by  this,  but  the  dissatisfjic- 
tion  to  find  that  I  had  been  imposed  upon  ?  Ilence  it  is 
tliat  men  are  much  more  naturally  inclined  to  belief 
than  to  incredulity.  And  it  is  upon  this  ])rinciple,  that 
the  most  ignorant  and  barbarous  nations  have  frequent- 
ly excelled  in  siniilitudos,  comparisons,  mc^tiiphors,  and 
allegories,  who  have  been  Aveak  and  backward  in  dis- 
tinguishing and  sorting  their  ideas.  And  it  is  for  a 
reason  of  this  kind,  that  IJomer  and  the  oriental  writ- 


ON   TASTE.  89 

ers,  though  very  fond  of  similitudes,  and  though  they 
often  strike  out  such  as  are  truly  admirable,  seldom 
take  care  to  have  them  exact ;  that  is,  they  are  taken 
with  the  general  resemblance,  they  paint  it  strongly, 
and  they  take  no  notice  of  the  difference  which  may 
be  found  between  the  things  compared. 

Now  as  the  pleasure  of  resemblance  is  that  which 
principally  flatters  the  imagination,  all  men  are  near- 
ly equal  in  this  point,  as  far  as  their  knowledge  of  the 
things  represented  or  compared  extends.  The  prin- 
ciple of  this  knowledge  is  very  much  accidental,  as  it 
depends  upon  experience  and  observation,  and  not  on 
the  strength  or  weakness  of  any  natural  faculty  ;  and 
it  is  from  this  difference  in  knowledge,  that  what  we 
commonly,  though  with  no  great  exactness,  call  a  dif- 
ference in  taste  proceeds.  A  man  to  whom  sculpture 
is  new,  sees  a  barber's  block,  or  some  ordinary  piece 
of  statuary ;  he  is  immediately  struck  and  pleased, 
because  he  sees  something  like  a  human  figure  ;  and, 
entirely  taken  up  with  this  likeness,  he  does  not  at 
all  attend  to  its  defects.  No  person,  I  believe,  at  the 
first  time  of  seeing  a  piece  of  imitation  ever  did. 
Some  time  after,  we  suppose  that  this  novice  lights 
upon  a  more  artificial  work  of  the  same  nature  ;  he 
now  begins  to  look  with  contempt  on  what  he  ad- 
mired at  first ;  not  that  he  admired  it  even  then  for 
its  unlikencss  to  a  man,  but  for  that  general  though 
inaccurate  resemblance  which  it  bore  to  the  human 
figure.  What  he  admired  at  different  times  in  these 
so  different  figures,  is  strictly  the  same  ;  and  though 
his  knowledge  is  improved,  his  taste  is  not  altered. 
Hitherto  his  mistake  was  from  a  want  of  knowledge  in 
art,  and  this  arose  from  his  inexperience  ;  but  he  may 
be  still  deficient  from  a  want  of  knowledge  in  nature. 


90  INTRODUCTION. 

For  it  is  possible  that  the  man  in  question  may  stop 
here,  and  that  the  masterpiece  of  a  great  hand  may 
please  him  no  more  than  the  middling  performance 
of  a  vulgar  artist ;  and  this  not  for  want  of  better  or 
higher  relish,  but  because  all  men  do  not  observe  with 
suflEicient  accuracy  on  the  human  figure  to  enable  them 
to  judge  properly  of  an  imitation  of  it.  And  that  the 
critical  taste  does  not  depend  upon  a  superior  princi- 
ple in  men,  but  upon  superior  knowledge,  may  appear 
from  several  instances.  The  story  of  the  ancient  paint- 
er and  the  shoemaker  is  very  well  known.  The  shoe- 
maker set  the  painter  right  with  regard  to  some 
mistakes  he  had  made  in  the  shoe  of  one  of  his  fig- 
ures, which  the  painter,  who  had  not  made  such  ac- 
curate observations  on  shoes,  and  was  content  with  a 
general  resemblance,  had. never  observed.  But  this 
was  no  impeachment  to  the  taste  of  the  painter  ;  it 
only  showed  some  want  of  knowledge  in  the  art  of 
making  shoes.  Let  us  imagine,  that  an  anatomist 
had  come  into  the  painter's  working-room.  His  piece 
is  in  general  well  done,  the  figure  in  question  in  a  good 
attitude,  and  the  parts  well  adjusted  to  their  various 
movements ;  yet  the  anatomist,  critical  in  his  art, 
may  observe  the  swell  of  some  muscle  not  quite  just 
in  the  peculiar  action  of  the  figure.  Here  the  anat- 
omist observes  what  the  painter  had  not  observed ; 
and  he  passes  by  what  the  slioemaker  had  remarked, 
liut  a  want  of  the  last 'critical  knowledge  in  anatomy 
no  more  reflected  on  tlie  natural  good  taste  of  the 
[)aiMter,  or  of  any  common  observer  of  his  piece,  than 
tlic  want  of  an  exact  knowledge  in  the  formation  of 
a  shoe.  A  fine  piece  of  a  dccolliited  head  of  St.  John 
the  Baptist  was  shown  to  a  Turkisli  emperor:  ho 
praised  many  things,  but  lie  observed  one  defect: 


ON  TASTE.  91 

he  observed  that  the  skm  did  not  shrink  from  the 
wounded  part  of  the  neck.  The  sultan  on  this 
occasion,  though  his  observation  was  very  just,  dis- 
covered no  more  natural  taste  than  the  painter  who 
executed  this  piece,  or  than  a  thousand  European 
connoisseurs,  who  probably  never  would  have  made 
the  same  observation.  His  Turkish  majesty  had 
indeed  been  well  acquainted  with  that  terrible  spec- 
tacle, which  the  others  could  only  have  represented 
in  their  imagination.  On  the  subject  of  their  dislike 
there  is  a  difference  between  all  these  people,  aris- 
ing from  the  different  kinds  and  degrees  of  their 
knowledge;  but  there  is  something  in  common  to 
the  painter,  the  shoemaker,  the  anatomist,  and  the 
Turkish  emperor,  the  pleasure  arising  from  a  nat- 
ural object,  so  far  as  each  perceives  it  justly  imitated  ; 
the  satisfaction  in  seeing  an  agreeable  figure  ;  the 
sympathy  proceeding  from  a  striking  and  affecting 
incident.  So  far  as  taste  is  natural,  it  is  nearly 
common  to  all. 

In  poetry,  and  other  pieces  of  imagination,  the 
same  parity  may  be  observed.  It  is  true,  that  one 
man  is  charmed  with  Don  Bellianis,  and  reads  Yirgil 
coldly  ;  whilst  another  is  transported  with  the  J^neid, 
and  leaves  Don  Bellianis  to  children.  ^  These  two  men 
seem  to  have  a  taste  very  different  from  each  other ; 
but  in  fact  they  differ  very  little.  In  both  these 
pieces,  which  inspire  such  opposite  sentiments,  a  tale 
exciting  admiration  is  told ;  both  are  full  of  action, 
both  are  passionate  ;  in  both  are  voyages,  battles, 
triumphs,  and  continual  changes  of  fortune.  The 
admirer  of  Don  Bellianis  perhaps  does  not  under- 
stand the  refined  language  of  the  ^neid,  who,  if  it 
was  degraded  into  the  style  of  the  "  Pilgrim's  Pro- 


92  INTEODUCTION. 

gress,"  might  feel  it  in  all  its  energy,  on  the  same 
principle  which  made  him  an  admirer  of  Don  Bel- 
lianis. 

In  his  favorite  author  he  is  not  shocked  with  the 
continual  breaches  of  probability,  the  confusion  of 
times,  the  offences  against  manners,  the  trampling 
upon  geography ;  for  he  knows  nothing  of  geograpliy 
and  chronology,  and  he  has  never  examined  tlie 
grounds  of  probability.  He  perhaps  reads  of  a  ship- 
wreck on  the  coast  of  Bohemia:  wholly  taken  up 
with  so  interesting  an  event,  and  only  solicitous  for 
the  fate  of  his  hero,  he  is  not  in  the  least  troubled  at 
this  extravagant  blunder.  For  why  should  he  be 
shocked  at  a  shipwreck  on  the  coast  of  Bohemia,  who 
does  not  know  but  that  Bohemia  may  be  an  island 
in  the  Atlantic  ocean  ?  and  after  all,  what  reflection 
is  this  on  the  natural  good  taste  of  the  person  here 
supposed  ? 

So  far  then  as  taste  belongs  to  the  imagination,  its 
principle  is  the  same  in  all  men ;  there  is  no  differ- 
ence in  the  manner  of  their  being  affected,  nor  in  the 
causes  of  the  affection ;  but  in  the  degree  there  is  a 
difference,  which  arises  from  two  causes  principally; 
either  from  a  greater  degree  of  natural  sensibility,  or 
from  a  closer  and  longer  attention  to  the  object.  To 
illustrate  this  by  the  procedure  of  the  senses,  in 
which  the  same  difference  is  found,  let  us  suppose 
a  very  smooth  marble  table  to  be  set  before  two  men; 
they  both  perceive  it  to  be  smooth,  and  they  are  both 
jilcased  with  it  because  of  tliis  quality.  80  far  they 
ngroe.  But  suppose  another,  and  after  that  another 
tiiltlo,  the  latter  still  smoother  than  the  former,  to  be 
set  before  them.  It  is  now  very  probaljlo  that  these 
men,  who  arc  so  agreed  upon  what  is  smooth,  and 


ON  TASTE.  93 

in  the  pleasure  from  thence,  will  disagree  when 
they  come  to  settle  which  table  has  the  advantage  in 
point  of  polish.  Here  is  indeed  the  great  difference 
between  tastes,  when  men  come  to  compare  the  excess 
or  diminution  of  things  which  arc  judged  by  degree 
and  not  by  measure.  Nor  is  it  easy,  when  such  a 
difference  arises,  to  settle  the  pohit,  if  the  excess  or 
diminution  be  not  glaring.  If  we  differ  in  opinion 
about  two  quantities,  we  can  have  recourse  to  a  com- 
mon measure,  which  may  decide  the  question  with 
the  utmost  exactness  ;  and  this,  I  take  it,  is  what 
gives  mathematical  knowledge  a  greater  certainty 
than  any  other.  But  in  things  whose  excess  is  not 
judged  by  greater  or  smaller,  as  smoothness  and 
roughness,  hardness  and  softness,  darkness  and 
light,  the  shades  of  colors,  all  these  are  very  easi- 
ly distinguished  when  the  difference  is  any  way  con- 
siderable, but  not  when  it  is  minute,  for  want  of 
some  common  measures,  which  perhaps  may  never 
come  to  be  discovered.  In  these  nice  cases,  suppos- 
ing the  acuteness  of  the  sense  equal,  the  greater 
attention  and  habit  in  such  things  will  have  the 
advantage.  In  the  q^^estion  about  tlie  tables,  the 
marble- polisher  will  unquestionably  determine  the 
most  accurately.  But  notwithstanding  this  want 
of  a  common  measure  for  settling  many  disputes 
relative  to  the  senses,  and  their  representative  the 
imagination,  we  find  that  the  principles  are  the  same 
in  all,  and  that  there  is  no  disagreement  until  we 
come  to  examine  into  the  pre-eminence  or  difference 
of  tilings,  which  brings  us  within  the  province  of  the 
judgment. 

So  long  as  we  are  conversant  with  the   sensible 
qualities  of  things,  hardly  any  more  than  the  imagi- 


94  INTRODUCTION. 

nation  seems  concerned;  little  more  also  than  the 
imaguiation  seems  concerned  when  the  passions  are 
represented,  because  by  the  force  of  natural  sym- 
pathy they  are  felt  in  all  men  without  any  recourse 
to  reasoning,  and  their  justness  recognized  in  every 
breast.  Love,  grief,  fear,  anger,  joy,  all  these  pas- 
sions have,  in  their  turns,  affected  every  mind ;  and 
they  do  not  affect  it  in  an  arbitrary  or  casual  man- 
ner, but  upon  certain,  natural,  and  uniform  princi- 
ples. But  as  many  of  the  works  of  imagination  are 
not  confined  to  the  representation  of  sensible  objects, 
nor  to  efforts  upon  the  passions,  but  extend  them- 
selves to  the  manners,  the  characters,  the  actions, 
and  designs  of  men,  their  relations,  their  virtues  and 
vices,  they  come  within  the  province  of  the  judg- 
ment, which  is  improved  by  attention,  and  by  the 
habit  of  reasoning.  All  these  make  a  very  consider- 
able part  of  what  are  considered  as  the  objects  of 
taste  ;  and  Horace  sends  us  to  the  schools  of  phi- 
losophy and  the  world  for  our  instruction  in  them. 
Whatever  certainty  is  to  be  acquired  in  morality 
and  the  science  of  life ;  just  the  same  degree  of  cer- 
tainty have  we  in  what  relates  to  them  in  works  of 
imitation.  Indeed  it  is  for  the  most  part  in  our  skill 
in  manners,  and  in  the  observances  of  time  and 
place,  and  of  decency  in  general,  which  is  only  to 
be  learned  in  those  schools  to  which  Horace  recom- 
mends us,  that  what  is  called  taste,  by  way  of  dis- 
tinction, consists:  and  which  is  in  reality  no  otlier 
than  a  more  refined  judgment.  On  the  whole,  it 
appears  to  me,  that  what  is  called  taste,  in  its  most 
general  acceptation,  is  not  a  simple  idea,  but  is  partly 
made  up  of  a  perception  of  tlie  primary  jileasures  of 
sense,  of  the  sccondai-y  pleasures  of  the  imagination, 


ON   TASTE.  95 

and  of  the  conclusions  of  the  reasoning  faculty,  con- 
cerning the  various  relations  of  these,  and  concern- 
ing the  human  passions,  manners,  and  actions.  All 
this  is  requisite  to  form  taste,  and  the  groundwork  of 
all  these  is  the  same  in  the  human  mind ;  for  as  the 
senses  are  the  great  originals  of  all  our  ideas,  and 
consequently  of  all  our  pleasures,  if  they  are  not 
uncertain  and  arbitrary,  the  whole  groundwork  of 
taste  is  common  to  all,  and  tlierefore  there  is  a  suffi- 
cient foundation  for  a  conclusive  reasoning  on  these 
matters. 

Whilst  we  consider  taste  merely  according  to  its 
nature  and  species,  we  shall  find  its  principles  entirely 
uniform ;  but  the  degree  in  which  these  principles 
prevail,  in  the  several  individuals  of  mankind,  is  al- 
together as  different  as  the  principles  themselves  are 
similar.  For  sensibility  and  judgment,  which  are  the 
qualities  that  compose  what  we  commonly  call  a  taste, 
vary  exceedingly  in  various  people.  From  a  defect  in 
the  former  of  these  qualities  arises  a  want  of  taste  ;  a 
weakness  in  the  latter  constitutes  a  wrong  or  a  bad 
one.  There  are  some  men  formed  with  feelings  so 
blunt,  with  tempers  so  cold  and  phlegmatic,  that  they 
can  hardly  be  said  to  be  awake  during  the  whole 
course  of  their  lives.  Upon  such  persons  the  most 
striking  objects  make  but  a  faint  and  obscure  impres- 
sion. There  are  others  so  continually  in  the  agitation 
of  gross  and  merely  sensual  pleasures,  or  so  occupied 
in  the  low  drudgery  of  avarice,  or  so  heated  in  tlie 
chase  of  honors  and  distinction,  that  their  minds, 
which  had  been  used  continually  to  the  storms  of 
these  violent  and  tempestuous  passions,  can  hardly  be 
put  in  motion  by  the  delicate  and  refined  play  of  the 
imagination.     These  men,  though  from  a  different 


96  INTRODUCTION. 

cause,  become  as  stupid  and  insensible  as  the  former ; 
but  whenever  either  of  these  happen  to  be  struck  with 
any  natural  elegance  or  greatness,  or  with  these  qual- 
ities in  any  work  of  art,  they  are  moved  upon  the 
same  principle. 

The  cause  of  a  wrong  taste  is  a  defect  of  judgment. 
And  this  may  arise  from  a  natural  weakness  of  un- 
derstanding (in  whatever  the  strength  of  that  faculty 
may  consist),  or,  which  is  much  more  commonly  the 
case,  it  may  arise  from  a  want  of  a  proper  and  well- 
directed  exercise,  which  alone  can  make  it  strong  and 
ready.  Besides,  that  ignorance,  inattention,  prejudice, 
rashness,  levity,  obstinacy,  in  short,  all  those  passions, 
and  all  those  vices^  which  pervert  the  judgment  in 
other  matters,  prejudice  it  no  less  in  this  its  more  re- 
fined and  elegant  province.  These  causes  produce 
diflfcrent  opinions  upon  everything  which  is  an  object 
of  the  understanding,  without  inducing  us  to  suppose 
that  there  are  no  settled  principles  of  reason.  And 
indeed,  on  the  whole,  one  may  observe,  that  there 
is  rather  less  difference  upon  matters  of  taste  among 
mankind,  than  upon  most  of  those  which  depend  upon 
the  naked  reason  ;  and  that  men  are  far  better  agreed 
on  the  excellence  of  a  description  in  Virgil,  than  on 
the  truth  or  falsehood  of  a  theory  of  Aristotle. 

A  rectitude  of  judgment  hi  the  arts,  which  may  be 
called  a  good  taste,  does  in  a  great  measure  depend 
upon  sensibility ;  because  if  the  mind  has  no  bent  to 
the  pleasures  of  tlie  imagination,  it  will  never  apply 
itself  sufticiciitly  to  works  of  that  species  to  acquire 
a  competent  knowledge  in  them.  But  though  a  de- 
gree of  sensil)ility  is  requisite  to  form  a  good  judg- 
ment, yet  a  good  judgnuMit  does  not  necessarily  arise 
from  a  quick  sensil)ilily  of  pleasure ;  it  frcquentljf 


ON  TASTE.  97 

Happens  that  a  very  poor  judge,  merely  by  force  of 
a  greater  complexional  sensibility,  is  more  affected 
by  a  very  poor  piece,  than  the  best  judge  by  the  most 
perfect ;  for  as  everything  new,  extraordinary,  grand, 
or  passionate,  is  well  calculated  to  affect  such  a  per 
son,  and  that  the  faults  do  not  affect  him,  his  pleas- 
ure is  more  pure  and  unmixed  ;  and  as  it  is  merely 
a  pleasure  of  the  imagination,  it  is  much  higher  than 
any  which  is  derived  from  a  rectitude  of  the  judg- 
ment ;  the  judgment  is  for  the  greater  part  employed 
in  throwing  stumbling-blocks  in  the  way  of  the  im- 
agination, in  dissipating  the  scenes  of  its  enchant- 
ment, and  in  tying  us  down  to  the  disagreeable  yoke 
of  our  reason  :  for  almost  the  only  pleasure  that 
men  have  in  judging  better  than  others,  consists  in  a 
sort  of  conscious  pride  and  superiority,  which  arises 
from  thinking  rightly ;  but  tlien  this  is  an  indirect 
pleasure,  a  pleasure  which  does  not  immediately  re- 
sult from  the  object  which  is  under  contemplation. 
In  the  morning  of  our  days,  when  the  senses  are  un- 
worn and  tender,  when  the  whole  man  is  awake  in 
every  part,  and  the  gloss  of  novelty  fresh  upon  all 
the  objects  that  surround  us,  how  lively  at  that  time 
are  our  sensations,  but  how  false  and  inaccurate  the 
judgments  we  form  of  things  !  I  despair  of  ever  re- 
ceiving the  same  degree  of  pleasure  from  the  most 
excellent  performances  of  genius,  which  I  felt  at  that 
age  from  pieces  which  my  present  judgment  regards 
as  trifling  and  contemptible.  Every  trivial  cause  of 
pi(3asure  is  apt  to  affect  the  man  of  too  sanguine  a 
complexion  :  his  appetite  is  too  keen  to  suffer  his  taste 
to  be  delicate  ;  and  he  is  in  all  respects  what  Ovid 
says  of  himself  in  love, 

Molle  meum  lexjbus  cor  est  violabile  telis, 
Et  semper  causa  est,  cur  ego  semper  amem. 
VOL    I  7 


98  INTRODUCTIOlv. 

One  of  this  character  can  never  be  a  refined  judge  ; 
never  what  the  comic  poet  calls  elcgans  formarum 
spectator.  The  excellence  and  force  of  a  composition 
must  always  be  imperfectly  estimated  from  its  effect 
on  the  minds  of  any,  except  we  know  the  temper  and 
character  of  those  minds.  The  most  powerful  effects 
of  poetry  and  music  have  been  displayed,  and  per- 
haps are  still  displayed,  where  these  arts  are  but  in 
a  very  low  and  imperfect  state.  The  rude  hearer  is 
affected  by  the  principles  which  operate  in  these  arts 
even  in  their  rudest  condition  ;  and  he  is  not  skilful 
enough  to  perceive  the  defects.  But  as  the  arts 
advance  towards  their  perfection,  the  science  of  criti- 
cism advances  with  equal  pace,  and  the  pleasure  of 
judges  is  frequently  interrupted  by  the  faults  which 
are  discovered  in  the  most  finished  compositions. 

Before  I  leave  this  subject,  I  cannot  help  taking 
notice  of  an  opinion  which  many  persons  entertain, 
as  if  the  taste  were  a  separate  faculty  of  the  mind, 
and  distinct  from  the  judgment  and  imagination  ;  a 
species  of  instinct,  by  which  we  are  struck  naturally, 
and  at  the  first  glance,  without  any  previous  reasoning, 
with  the  excellences  or  the  defects  of  a  composition. 
So  far  as  the  imagination  and  the  passions  are  con- 
cerned, I  believe  it  true,  that  the  reason  is  little  con- 
sulted ;  but  where  disposition,  where  decorum,  where 
congruity  are  concerned,  in  short,  wherever  the  best 
taste  differs  from  the  worst,  I  am  convinced  that  the 
understanding  operates,  and  nothing  else  ;  and  its 
operation  is  in  reality  far  from  being  always  siulden, 
or,  when  it  is  sudden,  it  is  often  far  from  being 
right.  Men  of  the  l^est  taste  by  consideration  come 
fre(juently  to  change  these  early  and  precipitate  judg- 
ments, which  tbe  mind,  from  its  aversion  to  neu- 
trality and  (luiiM,,  loves  lo  Innn  on   llie  s|)()t.      It  is 


ON   TASTE.  99 

known  that  the  taste  (whatever  it  is)  is  improved 
exactly  as  we  improve  our  judgment,  by  extending 
our  knowledge,  by  a  steady  attention  to  our  object, 
and  by  frequent  exercise.  They  who  have  not  taken 
these  methods,  if  their  taste  decides  quickly,  it  is 
always  uncertainly ;  and  their  quickness  is  owing  to 
their  presumption  and  rashness,  and  not  to  any  sud- 
den irradiation,  that  in  a  moment  dispels  all  darlaiess 
from  their  minds.  But  they  who  have  cultivated 
that  species  of  knowledge  which  makes  the  object  of 
taste,  by  degrees  and  habitiially  attain  not  only  a 
soundness  but  a  readiness  of  judgment,  as  men  do 
by  the  same  methods  on  all  other  occasions.  At 
first  they  are  obliged  to  spell,  but  at  last  they  read 
with  ease  and  with  celerity  ;  but  this  celerity  of  its 
operation  is  no  proof  that  the  taste  is  a  distinct  fac- 
ulty. Nobody,  I  believe,  has  attended  the  course  of 
a  discussion  which  turned  upon  matters  within  the 
sphere  of  mere  naked  reason,  but  must  have  observed 
the  extreme  readiness  with  which  the  whole  process 
of  the  argument  is  carried  on,  the  grounds  dis- 
covered, the  objections  raised  and  answered,  and  the 
conclusions  drawn  from  premises,  with  a  quickness 
altogether  as  great  as  the  taste  can  be  supposed  to 
work  with ;  and  yet  where  nothing  but  plaiii  reason 
either  is  oi  oan  be  suspected  to  operate.  To  multi- 
ply principles  for  every  different  appearance  is  use- 
less, and  unphilosophical  too  in  a  high  degree. 

This  matter  might  be  pursued  much  farther;  but 
it  is  not  the  extent  of  the  subject  which  must  pre- 
scribe our  bounds,  for  what  subject  does  not  branch 
out  to  infinity  ?  It  is  the  nature  of  our  particular 
scheme,  and  the  single  point  of  view  in  which  we 
consider  it,  which  ought  to  put  a  stop  to  our  re- 
searches 


A 

PHILOSOPHICAL  INQUIRY 

INTO  THE  ORIGIN  OF  OUR  IDEAS  OF 

THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUI- 


PART    I. 

SECTION    I. 

NOVELTY. 

THE  first  and  the  simplest  emotion  wliicli  we  dis- 
cover in  the  human  mind  is  curiosity.  By  curi- 
osity I  mean  whatever  desire  we  have  for,  or  what- 
ever pleasure  we  take  in,  novelty.  "We  see  children 
perpetually  running  from  place  to  place,  to  hunt  out 
something  new :  they  catch  with  great  eagerness,  and 
with  very  little  choice,  at  whatever  comes  before 
them ;  their  attention  is  engaged  by  everything, 
because  everything  has,  in  that  stage  of  life,  the 
charm  of  novelty  to  recommend  it.  But  as  those 
things,  which  engage  us  merely  by  their  novelty,  can- 
not attacli  us  for  any  length  of  time,  curiosity  is  the 
most  superficial  of  all  the  affections ;  it  changes  its 
object  perpetually ;  it  has  an  appetite  which  is  very 
sharp,  but  very  easily  satisfied  ;  and  it  has  always  an 
appearance  of  giddiness,  restlessness,  and  anxiety. 
Curiosity,  from  its  nature,  is  a  very  active  principle  ; 
it  quickly  runs  over  the  greatest  part  of  its  objects, 
and  soon  exhausts  the  variety  which  is  commonly  to 
be  met  with  in  nature  ;  the  same  things  make  frequent 
returns,  and  they  return  with  less  and  less  of  any 


102       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

agreeable  effect.  In  short,  the  occurrences  of  hfe,  by 
the  time  we  come  to  know  it  a  little,  would  be  inca- 
pable of  affecting  the  mind  with  any  other  sensations 
than  those  of  loathing  and  weariness,  if  many  things 
were  not  adapted  to  affect  the  mind  by  means  of 
other  powers  besides  novelty  in  them,  and  of  other 
passions  besides  curiosity  in  ourselves.  These  pow- 
ers and  passions  shall  be  considered  in  their  place. 
But,  whatever  these  powers  are,  or  upon  wliat  princi- 
ple soever  they  affect  the  mind,  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary that  they  should  not  be  exerted  in  those  things 
which  a  daily  and  %mlgar  use  have  brouglit  into  a 
stale  unaffecting  familiarity.  Some  degree  of  nov- 
elty must  be  one  of  the  materials  in  every  instru- 
ment which  works  upon  tlie  mind ;  and  curiosity 
blends  itself  more  or  less  with  all  our  passions. 


SECTION    II. 

PAIN    AND    PLEASURE. 

It  seems,  then,  necessary  towards  moving  the  pas- 
sions of  people  advanced  in  life  to  any  consider- 
able degree,  that  the  objects  designed  for  that  pur- 
pose, besides  their  being  in  some  measure  new, 
sliould  be  capable  of  exciting  pain  or  pleasure  from 
other  causes.  Pain  and  pleasure  are  simple  ideas, 
incapable  of  definition.  People  are  not  liable  to  be 
mistaken  in  their  feelings,  but  they  are  very  fre- 
quently wrong  in  the  names  they  give  them,  and  in 
tlieir  reasonings  about  tliem.  Many  are  of  opinion, 
tliat  pain  arises  necessarily  from  the  removal  of  some 
|)l<!asure ;  as  they  think  pli;asure  does  from  the  ceas- 
ing or  dimimitioii  of  some  pain.     For  my  jjart,  1  am 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       103 

rather  inclined  to  imagine,  that  pain  and  pleasure, 
in  their  most  simple  and  natural  manner  of  affecting, 
are  each  of  a  positive  nature,  and  by  no  means  neces- 
sarily dependent  on  each  other  for  their  existence. 
The  human  mind  is  often,  and  I  think  it  is  for  the 
most  part,  in  a  state  neither  of  pain  nor  pleasure, 
which  I  call  a  state  of  indifference.  When  I  am  car- 
ried from  this  state  into  a  state  of  actual  pleasure,  it 
does  not  appear  necessary  that  I  should  pass  through 
the  medium  of  any  sort  of  pain.  If  in  such  a  state 
of  indifference,  or  ease,  or  tranquillity,  or  call  it  what 
you  please,  you  were  to  be  suddenly  entertained  with 
a  concert  of  music ;  or  suppose  some  object  of  a  fine 
shape,  and  bright,  lively  colors,  to  be  presented  be- 
fore you  ;  or  imagine  your  smell  is  gratified  with 
the  fragrance  of  a  rose ;  or  if,  without  any  previous 
thirst,  you  were  to  drink  of  some  pleasant  kind  of 
wine,  or  to  taste  of  some  sweetmeat  without  being 
hungry ;  in  all  the  several  senses,  of  hearing,  smell- 
ing, and  tasting,  you  undoubtedly  find  a  pleasure  ; 
yet,  if  I  inquire  into  the  state  of  your  mind  previous 
to  these  gratifications,  you  will  hardly  tell  me  that 
they  found  you  in  any  kind  of  pain  ;  or,  having  satis- 
fied these  several  senses  with  their  several  pleasures, 
will  you  say  that  any  pain  has  succeeded,  though  the 
pleasure  is  absolutely  over  ?  Suppose,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  man  in  the  same  state  of  indifference  to 
receive  a  violent  blow,  or  to  drink  of  some  bitter  po- 
tion, or  to  have  his  ears  wounded  with  some  harsh 
and  grating  sound  ;  here  is  no  removal  of  pleasure  ; 
and  yet  here  is  felt,  in  every  sense  which  is  affected, 
a  pahi  very  distinguishable.  It  may  be  said,  perhaps, 
that  the  pain  in  these  cases  had  its  rise  from  the 
removal   of  the   pleasure   which    the   man   enjoyed 


104  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

before,  though  that  pleasure  was  of  so  low  a  degree  as 
to  be  perceived  only  by  the  removal.  But  this  seems 
to  me  a  subtilty  that  is  not  discoverable  in  nature. 
For  if,  previous  to  the  pain,  I  do  not  feel  any  actual 
pleasure,  I  have  no  reason  to  judge  that  any  such 
thing  exists ;  since  pleasure  is  only  pleasure  as  it  is 
felt.  The  same  may  be  said  of  pain,  and  with  equal 
reason.  I  can  never  persuade  myself  that  pleasure 
and  pain  are  mere  relations,  which  can  only  exist  as 
they  are  contrasted  ;  but  I  think  I  can  discern  clearly 
that  there  are  positive  pains  and  pleasures,  which  do 
not  at  all  depend  upon  each  other.  Nothing  is  more 
certain  to  my  own  feelings  than  this.  There  is  noth- 
ing which  I  can  distinguish  in  my  mind  with  more 
clearness  than  the  three  states,  of  indifference,  of 
pleasure,  and  of  pain.  Every  one  of  these  I  can  per- 
ceive without  any  sort  of  idea  of  its  relation  to  any- 
thing else.  Caius  is  afflicted  with  a  fit  of  the  colic  ; 
this  man  is  actually  in  pain  ;  stretch  Caius  upon  the 
rack,  he  will  feel  a  much  greater  pain  :  but  does  this 
pain  of  the  rack  arise  from  the  removal  of  any  pleas- 
ure ?  or  is  the  fit  of  the  colic  a  pleasure  or  a  pain 
iust  as  we  are  pleased  to  consider  it  ? 


SECTION    III. 

THE    DIFFERENCE    BETWEEN    THE    REMOVAL    OP    PAIN 
AND    POSITIVE    PLEASURE. 

We  shall  carry  this  proposition  yet  a  step  fui-ther. 
We  shall  venture  to  propose,  that  pain  and  j)loasure  are 
not  only  not  necessarily  dependent  for  their  existence 
on  their  mutual  diminution  or  removal,  but  that,  in 
reality,  the  diminution  or  ceasing  of  pleasure  does  not 


ON  THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  105 

operate  like  positive  pain ;  and  tliat  the  removal  or 
diminution  of  pain,  in  its  effect,  has  very  little  re- 
semblance to  positive  pleasure.*  The  former  of  these 
propositions  will,  I  believe,  be  much  more  readily  al- 
lowed than  the  latter  ;  because  it  is  very  evident  that 
pleasure,  when  it  has  run  its  career,  sets  us  down 
very  nearly  where  it  found  us.  Pleasure  of  every 
kind  quickly  satisfies ;  and,  when  it  is  over,  we  re- 
lapse into  indifference,  or,  rather,  we  fall  into  a  soft 
tranquillity  which  is  tinged  with  the  agreeable  color 
of  the  former  sensation.  I  own  it  is  not  at  first  view 
so  apparent  that  the  removal  of  a  great  pain  does  not 
resemble  positive  pleasure  :  but  let  us  recollect  in  what 
state  we  have  found  our  minds  upon  escaping  some  im- 
minent danger,  or  on  being  released  from  the  severity 
of  some  cruel  pam.  We  have  on  such  occasions  found, 
if  I  am  not  much  mistaken,  the  temper  of  our  minds  in 
a  tenor  very  remote  from  that  which  attends  the  pres- 
ence of  positive  pleasure  ;  we  have  found  them  in  a 
state  of  much  sobriety,  impressed  with  a  sense  of  awe, 
in  a  sort  of  tranquillity  shadowed  with  horror.  The 
fashion  of  the  countenance  and  the  gesture  of  the 
body  on  such  occasions  is  so  correspondent  to  this 
state  of  mind,  that  any  person,  a  stranger  to  the  cause 
of  the  appearance,  would  rather  judge  us  under  some 
consternation,  than  in  the  enjoyment  of  anything  like 
positive  pleasure. 

'Qs  8'  OTav  avSp'  art]  ttvkivt]  Xd/3?y,  oar  €vi  naTprj 
$0)ra  KaTaKTfivas,  aWa>v  f^iKero  Srjfiov, 
'Avtpbs  fs  a(pv€iov,  6dfx^os  S'  e'xei,  flcropocovras- 

Iliad.  £2.  480. 

*  Mr.  Locke  [Essay  on  Human  Understanding,  1.  ii.  c.  20,  sect.  16,] 
thinks  that  the  removal  or  lessening  of  a  pain  is  considered  and  oper- 
ates  as  a  pleasure,  and  the  loss  or  diminishing  of  pleasure  as  a  pain 
It  is  this  opinion  which  we  consider  here. 


106       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

"  As  when  a  wretcli,  who,  conscious  of  his  crime. 
Pursued  for  murder  from  his  native  clime, 
Just  gains  some  frontier,  breathless,  pale,  amazed.; 
All  gaze,  all  wonder  !  " 

This  striking  appearance  of  the  man  whom  Homer 
supposes  to  have  just  escaped  an  imminent  danger, 
the  sort  of  mixed  passion  of  terror  and  surprise,  with 
which  he  affects  the  spectators,  paints  very  strongly 
the  manner  in  which  we  find  ourselves  affected  upon 
occasions  any  way  similar.  For  when  we  have  suf- 
fered from  any  violent  emotion,  the  mind  naturally 
continues  in  something  like  the  same  condition,  after 
the  cause  which  first  produced  it  has  ceased  to  oper- 
ate. The  tossing  of  the  sea  remains  after  the  storm ; 
and  when  this  remain  of  horror  has  entirely  subsided, 
all  the  passion  which  the  accident  raised  subsides 
along  with  it ;  and  the  mind  returns  to  its  usual 
state  of  inditference.  In  sliort,  pleasure  (I  mean 
anything  either  in  the  inward  sensation,  or  in  the 
outward  appearance,  like  pleasure  from  a  positive 
cause)  has  never,  I  imagine,  its  origin  from  the  re- 
moval of  pain  or  danger. 


SECTION    IV. 

OF  DELIGHT  AND  PLEASURE,  AS  OPPOSED  TO  EACH 

OTHER. 

l^UT  shall  we  therefore  say,  that  tlic  removal  of 
pain  or  its  diminution  is  always  simply  painful  ?  or 
aflh-m  that  tlie  cessation  or  the  lessening  of  pleasure 
is  always  attended  itself  with  a  ])leasure  ?  By  no 
means.  AVhat  I  advance  is  no  more  than  this  ;  first, 
tliat  tliere  arc  pleasures  and  pains  of  a  positive  and 


ON    THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL.  107 

independent  nature ;  and,  secondly,  that  the  feeling 
which  results  from  the  ceasing  or  diminution  of  pain 
does  not  bear  a  sufficient  resemblance  to  positive 
pleasure,  to  have  it  considered  as  of  the  same  nature, 
or  to  entitle  it  to  be  known  by  the  same  name ;  and 
thirdly,  that  upon  the  same  principle  the  removal  or 
qualification  of  pleasure  has  no  resemblance  to  posi- 
tive pain.  It  is  certain  that  the  former  feeling  (the 
removal  or  moderation  of  pain)  has  something  in  it 
far  from  distressing,  or  disagreeable  in  its  nature. 
This  feeling,  in  many  cases  so  agreeable,  but  in  all  so 
different  from  positive  pleasure,  has  no  name  which  I 
know ;  but  that  hinders  not  its  being  a  very  real  one, 
and  very  different  from  all  others.  It  is  most  cer- 
tain, that  every  species  of  satisfaction  or  pleasure, 
how  different  soever  in  its  manner  of  affecting,  is 
of  a  positive  nature  in  the  mind  ot  him  who  feels  it. 
The  affection  is  undoubtedly  positive  ;  but  the  cause 
may  be,  as  in  this  case  it  certainly  is,  a  sort  of  priva- 
tion. And  it  is  very  reasonable  that  we  should  dis- 
tinguish by  some  term  two  things  so  distinct  in 
nature,  as  a  pleasure  that  is  such  simply,  and  with- 
out any  relation,  from  that  pleasure  which  cannot 
.  exist  without  a  relation,  and  that,  too,  a  relation  to 
pain.  Very  extraordinary  it  would  be,  if  these  affec- 
tions, so  distinguishable  in  their  causes,  so  different  in 
their  effects,  should  be  confounded  with  each  other, 
because  vulgar  use  has  ranged  them  under  the  same 
general  title.  Whenever  I  have  occasion  to  speak  of 
this  species  of  relative  pleasure,  I  call  it  delight;  and 
I  shall  take  the  best  care  I  can  to  use  that  word 
in  no  other  sense.  I  am  satisfied  the  word  is  not 
commonly  used  in  this  appropriated  signification  ; 
but  I  thought  it  better  to  take  up  a  word  already 


108  ON    THE    SUBLIME  .AND    BEAUTIFUl,. 

known,  and  to  limit  its  signification,  than  to  intro- 
duce a  new  one,  which  would  not  perhaps  incorpo- 
rate so  well  with  the  language.  I  should  never  have 
presumed  the  least  alteration  in  our  words,  if  the 
nature  of  the  language,  framed  for  the  purposes  of 
business  rather  than  those  of  philosophy,  and  the 
nature  of  my  subject,  that  leads  me  out  of  the 
common  track  of  discourse,  did  not  in  a  manner 
necessitate  me  to  it.  I  shall  make  use  of  this  liberty 
with  all  possible  caution.  As  I  make  use  of  the 
word  delight  to  express  the  sensation  which  accompa- 
nies the  removal  of  pain  or  danger,  so,  when  I  speak 
of  positive  pleasure,  I  shall  for  the  most  part  call  it 
simply  pleasure. 

SECTION    V. 

JOT   AND    GRIEF. 

It  must  be  observed,  that  the  cessation  of  pleas- 
ure affects  the  mind  three  ways.  If  it  simply  ceases 
after  having  continued  a  proper  time,  the  effect 
is  indifference;  if  it  be  abruptly  broken  off,  there 
ensues  an  uneasy  sense  called  disappointment;  if 
the  object  be  so  totally  lost  that  there  is  no  chance 
of  enjoying  it  again,  a  passion  arises  in  the  mind 
which  is  called  grief.  Now  there  is  none  of  these, 
not  even  grief,  which  is  the  most  violent,  that  I  think 
has  any  resemblance  to  positive  pain.  The  person 
who  grieves  suffers  his  passion  to  grow  upon  liim ; 
he  indulges  it,  lie  loves  it :  but  this  never  happens 
in  the  case  of  actual  pain,  whicli  no  man  ever 
willingly  endured  for  any  considerable  time.  That 
grief  sliould  b6  willingly  oiulurcd,  though  far  from 
a  simply  pleasing  sensation,  is  not  so  dilhcult  to  be 


ON  THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  109 

understood.  It  is  the  nature  of  grief  to  keep  its 
object  perpetually  in  its  eye,  to  present  it  in  its  most 
pleasurable  views,  to  repeat  all  the  circumstances 
that  attend  it,  even  to  the  last  minuteness  ;  to  go 
back  to  every  particular  enjoyment,  to  dwell  upon 
each,  and  to  find  a  thousand  new  perfections  in  all, 
that  were  not  sufficiently  understood  before  ;  in  grief, 
the  pleasure  is  still  uppermost ;  and  the  affliction  we 
suffer  has  no  resemblance  to  absolute  pain,  which  is 
always  odious,  and  which  we  endeavor  to  shake  off  as 
soon  as  possible.  The  Odyssey  of  Homer,  which 
abounds  with  so  many  natural  and  affecting  images, 
has  none  more  striking  than  those  which  Menelaus 
raises  of  the  calamitous  fate  of  his  friends,  and  his 
own  manner  of  feeling  it.  He  owns,  indeed,  that  he 
often  gives  himself  some  intermission  from  such  mel- 
ancholy reflections ;  but  he  observes,  too,  that,  mel- 
ancholy as  they  are,  they  give  him  pleasure. 

AXX   f/iTrrjs  navras  fiiv  68vp6fievos  koL  axevav, 
lioXKuKis  iv  fieydooiai  Ka6i]fi(vos  rj^iTipoicriv., 

AXXoTf  fiiv  re  yoa>  (ppeva  repnofiai,  aXXore  S'  avTf 
Uavofiar  at\|/-r;p6j  8e  Kopos  Kpvepoio  yooio. 

Horn.  Od.  A.  100 

"Still  in  short  intervals  of  pleasing  woe, 
Regardful  of  the  friendly  dues  I  owe, 
I  to  the  glorious  dead,  forever  dear, 
Indulge  the  tribute  of  a  grateful  tear." 

On  the  other  hand,  when  we  recover  our  health, 
when  we  escape  an  imminent  danger,  is  it  with  joy 
that  we  are  affected  ?  The  sense  on  these  occasions 
is  far  from  that  smooth  and  voluptuous  satisfaction 
which  the  assured  prospect  of  pleasure  bestows.  The 
delight  which  arises  from  the  modifications  of  pain 
confesses  the  stock  from  whence  it  sprung,  in  its 
solid,  strong,  and  severe  nature. 


110  ON   THE    SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

SECTION    VI. 

OF  THE  PASSIONS  WHICH  BELONG  TO  SELF-PRESERTATION. 

Most  of  the  ideas  which  are  capable  of  making  a 
powerful  impression  on  the  mind,  whether  simply  of 
pain  or  pleasure,  or  of  the  modifications  of  those,  may- 
be reduced  very  nearly  to  these  two  heads,  self-pres- 
ervation, and  society  ;  to  the  ends  of  one  or  the  other 
of  which  all  our  passions  are  calculated  to  answer. 
The  passions  which  concern  self-preservation,  turn 
mostly  on  pain  or  danger.  The  ideas  of  pain,  sick- 
ness, and  death,  fill  the  mind  with  strong  emotions  of 
horror ;  but  life  and  health,  though  they  put  us  in  a 
capacity  of  being  affected  with  pleasure,  make  no 
such  impression  by  the  simple  enjoyment.  The  pas- 
sions therefore  which  are  conversant  about  the  pres- 
ervation of  the  individual  turn  chiefly  on  pain  and 
danger,  and  they  are  the  most  powerful  of  all  the 
passions. 

SECTION    VI I. 

OF    THE    SUBLIME. 

Whatever  is  fitted  in  any  sort  to  excite  the  ideas 
of  pain  and  danger,  that  is  to  say,  whatever  is  in  any 
sort  terri])le,  or  is  conversant  about  terrible  objects, 
or  operates  in  a  manner  analogous  to  terror,  is  a 
source  of  the  sublime  ;  tliat  is,  it  is  productive  of  the 
strongest  emotion  which  the  mind  is  capable  of  feel- 
ing. I  say  the  strongest  emotion,  because  I  am  sat- 
isfied the  ideas  of  pain  are  mucli  more  powerful  than 
those  which  enter  on  Iho  ])art  of  pleasure.  Without 
all  doubt,  the  torments  wliicli  we  may  be  made  to 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  Ill 

suffer  are  much  greater  in  their  efl'cct  on  the  body 
and  mind,  than  any  pleasures  which  the  most  learned 
voluptuary  could  suggest,  or  than  the  liveliest  imagi- 
nation, and  the  most  sound  and  exquisitely  sensible 
body,  could  enjoy.  Nay,  I  am  in  great  doul)t  whether 
any  man  could  be  found,  who  would  earn  a  life  of 
the  most  perfect  satisfaction  at  the  price  of  ending  it 
in  the  torments,  which  justice  inflicted  hi  a  few  hours 
on  the  late  unfortunate  regicide  in  France.  But  as 
pain  is  stronger  in  its  operation  than  pleasure,  so 
death  is  in  general  a  much  aiore  affecting  idea  than 
pain  ;  because  there  are  very  few  pains,  however  ex- 
quisite, which  are  not  preferred  to  death  :  nay,  what 
generally  makes  pain  itself,  if  I  may  say  so,  more 
painful,  is,  that  it  is  considered  as  an  emissary  of  this 
king  of  terrors.  When  danger  or  pain  press  too  near- 
ly, they  are  incapable  of  giving  any  delight,  and  are 
simply  terrible ;  but  at  certain  distances,  and  with 
certain  modifications,  they  may  be,  and  they  are,  de- 
lightful, as  we  every  day  experience.  The  cause  of 
this  I  shall  endeavor  to  investigate  hereafter. 


SECTION    VIII. 

OF   THE   PASSIONS    WHICH   BELONG   TO    SOCIETY. 

The  other  head  under  which  I  class  our  passions, 
is  that  of  society,  which  may  be  divided  into  two  sorts. 
1.  The  society  of  the  sexes,  which  answers  the  pur- 
pose of  propagation ;  and  next,  that  more  general 
society,  which  we  have  with  men  and  with  other 
animals,  and  which  we  may  in  some  sort  be  said  to 
have  even  with  the  inanimate  world.     The  passions 


112      ON  THE  SUBLEME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

belonging  to  tlie  preservation  of  the  individual  turn 
wholly  on  pain  and  danger :  those  which  belong  to 
generation  have  their  origin  in  gratifications  and  jyleas- 
ures  ;  the  pleasure  most  directly  belonging  to  this  pur- 
pose is  of  a  lively  character,  rapturous  and  violent, 
and  confessedly  the  higliest  pleasure  of  sense ;  yet  the 
absence  of  this  so  great  an  enjoyment  scarce  amounts 
to  an  uneasiness ;  and,  except  at  particular  times,  ] 
do  not  think  it  affects  at  all.  "When  men  describe  in 
what  manner  they  are  affected  by  pain  and  danger, 
they  do  not  dwell  on  the  pleasure  of  health  and  the 
comfort  of  security,  and  then  lament  the  loss  of  these 
satisfactions :  tlie  whole  turns  upon  the  actual  pains 
and  horrors  which  they  endure.  But  if  you  listen  to 
the  complaints  of  a  forsaken  lover,  you  observe  that 
lie  insists  largely  on  the  pleasures  which  ~he  enjoyed, 
or  hoped  to  enjoy,  and  on  the  perfection  of  the  ob- 
ject of  his  desires ;  it  is  the  loss  which  is  always  up- 
permost in  his  mind.  The  violent  effects  produced 
by  love,  which  has  sometimes  been  even  wrought  up 
to  madness,  is  no  objection  to  the  rule  which  we  seek 
to  establish.  When  men  have  suffered  their  imagi- 
nations to  bo  long  affected  with  any  idea,  it  so  wholly 
engrosses  them  as  to  shut  out  by  degrees  almost 
every  other,  and  to  break  down  every  partition  of  the 
mind  which  would  confine  it.  Any  idea  is  sufficient 
for  the  purpose,  as  is  evident  from  the  infinite  variety 
of  causes,  which  give  rise  to  madness :  but  this  at 
most  can  only  prove,  that  the  passion  of  love  is  capa- 
ble of  producing  very  extraordinary  effects,  not  that 
its  extraordinary  emotions  have  any  connection  with 
positive  pain. 


ON   THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL.  118 


SECTION    IX. 

THE  PINAL  CAUSE  OF  THE  DIFFERENCE  BETWEEN  THE 
PASSIONS  BELONGING  TO  SELF-PRESERVATION,  AND 
THOSE    WHICH    REGARD    THE    SOCIETY    OF    THE    SEXES. 

The  final  cause  of  the  difference  in  character  be- 
tween the  passions  which    regard   self-preservation, 
and  those  which  are  directed  to  the  multiplication  of 
the  species,  will  illustrate  the  foregoing  remarks  yet 
further ;  and  it  is,  I  imagine,  worthy  of  observation 
even  upon  its  own  account.     As  the  performance  of 
our  duties  of  every  kind  depends  upon  life,  and  the 
performing  them  with  vigor  and  efficacy  depends  upon 
health,  we  are  very  strongly  affected  with  whatever 
threatens  the  destruction  of  either :  but  as  we  were 
not  made  to  acquiesce  in  life  and  health,  the  simple 
enjoyment  of  them  is   not  attended  with   any   real 
pleasure,  lest,  satisfied  with  that,  we  should  give  our- 
selves over  to  indolence  and  inaction.     On  the  other 
hand,  the  generation  of  mankind  is  a  great  purpose, 
and  it  is  requisite  that  men  should  be  animated  to 
the  pursuit  of  it  by  some  great  incentive.     It  is  there- 
fore attended  with  a  very  high  pleasure  ;  but  as  it  is 
by  no  means  designed  to  be  our  constant  business,  it 
is  not  fit  that  the  absence  of  this  pleasure  should  be 
attended  with  any  considerable  pain.     The  difference 
between  men  and  brutes,  in  this  point,  seems  to  be 
remarkable.     Men  are  at  all  times  pretty  equally  dis- 
posed to  the  pleasures  of  love,  because  they  are  to  be 
guided  by  reason  in  the  time  and  manner  of  indulg- 
ing them.     Had  any  great  pain  arisen  from  the  want 
of  this  satisfaction,  reason,  I  am  afraid,  would  find 
great  difficulties  in  tiie  performance  of  its  office.     But 

TOI..  I.  8 


114       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

brutes  that  obey  laws,  iu  the  execution  of  which  their 
own  reason  has  but  little  share,  have  their  stated 
seasons  ;  at  such  times  it  is  not  improbable  that  the 
sensation  from  the  want  is  very  troublesome,  because 
the  end  must  be  then  answered,  or  be  missed  in  many, 
perhaps  forever  ;  as  the  inclination  returns  only  ynth 
its  season. 

SECTION    X. 

OF    BEAUTY. 

The  passion  which  belongs  to  generation,  merely 
as  such,  is  lust  only.  This  is  evident  in  brutes, 
whose  passions  are  more  unmixed,  and  which  pursue 
their  purposes  more  directly  than  ours.  The  only 
distinction  they  observe  with  regard  to  their  mates, 
is  that  of  sex.  It  is  true,  that  they  stick  severally  to 
their  own  species  in  preference  to  all  others.  But 
this  preference,  I  imagine,  does  not  arise  from  any 
sense  of  beauty  whicli  they  find  in  their  species,  as 
Mr.  Addison  supposes,  but  from  a  law  of  some  other 
kind,  to  wliich  they  are  subject ;  and  this  we  may 
fairly  conclude,  from  their  apparent  want  of  choice 
amongst  those  objects  to  which  the  barriers  of  their 
species  have  confined  them.  But  man,  who  is  a  crea- 
ture adapted  to  a  greater  variety  and  intricacy  of 
relation,  connects  with  the  general  passion  the  idea 
of  some  social  qualities,  which  direct  and  heighten 
the  ai>potite  whicli  he  has  in  common  with  all 
otlier  animals ;  and  as  he  is  not  designed  like  them 
to  live  at  largo,  it  is  fit  that  he  should  have  some 
thing  to  create  a  preference,  and  fix  his  choice;  and 
this  in  general  should  be  some  sensihle  quality  ;  as 
no  other  can  so  quickly,  so  powerfully,  or  so  surely 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  115 

produce  its  effect.  The  object  therefore  of  this  mixed 
passion,  whicli  we  call  love,  is  the  beauty  of  the  sex. 
Men  are  carried  to  the  sex  in  general,  as  it  is  the 
sex,  and  by  the  common  law  of  nature  ;  but  they  are 
attached  to  particulars  by  personal  beauty.  I  call 
beauty  a  social  quality;  for  where  women  and  men, 
and  not  only  they,  but  when  other  animals  give  us  a 
sense  of  joy  and  pleasure  in  beholding  them  (and 
there  are  many  that  do  so),  they  inspire  us  with  sen- 
timents of  tenderness  and  affection  towards  their 
persons  ;  we  like  to  have  them  near  us,  and  we  enter 
willingly  into  a  kind  of  relation  with  them,  unless  we 
should  have  strong  reasons  to  the  contrary.  But  to 
what  end,  in  many  cases,  this  was  designed,  I  am 
unable  to  discover ;  for  I  see  no  greater  reason  for  a 
connection  between  man  and  several  animals  who  are 
attired  in  so  engaging  a  manner,  than  between  him 
and  some  others  who  entirely  want  this  attraction,  or 
possess  it  in  a  far  weaker  degree.  But  it  is  probable 
that  Providence  did  not  make  even  this  distinction, 
but  with  a  view  to  some  great  end  ;  though  we  can- 
not perceive  distinctly  what  it  is,  as  his  wisdom  is 
not  our  wisdom,  nor  our  ways  his  ways. 


SECTION    XL 

SOCIETY    AND    SOLITUDE. 

The  second  branch  of  the  social  passions  is  that 
which  administers  to  society  in  general.  With  regard 
to  this,  I  observe,  that  society,  merely  as  society, 
without  any  particular  heightenings,  gives  us  no  pos- 
itive pleasure  in  the  enjoyment ;  but  absolute  and 
entire  solitude,  that  is,  the  total  and  perpetual  exclu- 


116  ON    THE   SUBLDIE   AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

sion  from  all  society,  is  as  great  a  positive  pain  as  can 
almost  be  conceived.  Therefore  in  the  balance  be- 
tween the  pleasure  of  general  society/,  and  the  pain  of 
absolute  solitude,  pain  is  the  predominant  idea.  But 
the  pleasure  of  any  particular  social  enjoyment  out- 
weighs very  considerably  the  uneasiness  caused  by 
the  want  of  that  particular  enjoyment ;  so  that  the 
strongest  sensations  relative  to  the  habitudes  of  par- 
ticular society  are  sensations  of  pleasure.  Good  com- 
pany, lively  conversations,  and  the  endearments  of 
friendship,  fill  the  mind  with  great  pleasure ;  a  tem- 
porary solitude,  on  the  other  hand,  is  itself  agreeable. 
This  may  perhaps  prove  that  we  are  creatures  de- 
signed for  contemplation  as  well  as  action ;  since 
solitude  as  well  as  society  has  its  pleasures  ;  as  from 
the  former  observation  we  may  discern,  that  an  entire 
life  of  solitude  contradicts  the  purposes  of  our  being, 
since  death  itself  is  scarcely  an  idea  of  more  terror. 


SECTION   XII. 

SYMPATHY,    IMITATION,    AND    AMBITION. 

Under  this  denomination  of  society,  the  passions 
are  of  a  complicated  kind,  and  branch  out  into  a  vari- 
ety of  forms,  agreeably  to  that  variety  of  ends  they 
are  to  serve  in  tlie  great  chain  of  society.  The  three 
principal  links  in  this  chain  are  sympathy,  imitation, 
and  ambition. 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  117 

SECTION    XIII. 

SYMPATHY. 

It  is  by  the  first  of  these  passions  that  we  enter 
into  the  concerns  of  others ;  that  we  are  moved  as 
they  are  moved,  and  are  never  suffered  to  be  indif- 
ferent spectators  of  ahnost  anything  which  men  can 
do  or  suffer.  For  sympathy  must  be  considered  as  a 
sort  of  substitution,  by  wliich  we  are  put  into  the 
place  of  another  man,  and  affected  in  many  respects 
as  he  is  affected  :  so  that  this  passion  may  either  par- 
take of  the  nature  of  those  which  regard  self-preser- 
vation, and  turning  upon  pain  may  be  a  source  of  the 
sublime ;  or  it  may  turn  upon  ideas  of  pleasure  ; 
and  then  whatever  has  been  said  of  the  social  affec- 
tions, whether  they  regard  society  in  general,  or  only 
some  particular  modes  of  it,  may  be  applicable  here. 
It  is  by  this  principle  chiefly  that  poetry,  painting, 
and  other  affecting  arts,  transfuse  their  passions  from 
one  breast  to  another,  and  are  often  capable  of  graft- 
ing a  delight  on  wretchedness,  misery,  and  death  itself. 
It  is  a  common  observation,  that  objects  which  in  the 
reality  would  shock,  are  in  tragical,  and  such  like 
representations,  the  source  of  a  very  high  species  of 
pleasure.  This,  taken  as  a  fact,  has  been  the  cause 
of  much  reasoning.  The  satisfaction  has  been  com- 
monly attributed,  first,  to  the  comfort  we  receive  in 
considering  that  so  melancholy  a  story  is  no  more 
than  a  fiction  ;  and,  next,  to  the  contemplation  of  our 
own  freedom  from  the  evils  which  we  see  represented. 
I  am  afraid  it  is  a  practice  mucli  too  common  in  in- 
quiries of  this  nature,  to  attribute  the  cause  of  feel- 
ings which  merely  arise  from  the  mechanical  struc- 


118      ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

ture  of  our  bodies,  or  from  the  natural  frame  and 
constitution  of  our  minds,  to  certain  conclusions  of 
the  reasoning  faculty  on  the  objects  presented  to  us ; 
for  I  should  imagine,  that  the  influence  of  reason  in 
producing  our  passions  is  nothing  near  so  extensive 
as  it  is  commonly  believed. 


SECTION    XIV. 

THE    EFFECTS    OF    SYMPATHY    IN    THE    DISTRESSES    OP 

OTHERS. 

To  examine  this  point  concerning  the  effect  of 
tragedy  in  a  proper  manner,  we  must  previously  con- 
sider how  we  are  affected  by  the  feelings  of  our  fel- 
low-creatures in  circumstances  of  real  distress.  I  am 
convinced  we  have  a  degree  of  delight,  and  that  no 
small  one,  in  the  real  misfortunes  and  pains  of 
others  ;  for  let  the  affection  be  what  it  will  in  ap- 
pearance, if  it  does  not  make  us  shun  such  objects, 
if  on  the  contrary  it  induces  us  to  approach  them,  if 
it  makes  us  dwell  upon  them,  in  this  case  I  conceive 
we  must  have  a  delight  or  pleasure  of  some  species 
or  otlier  in  contemplating  objects  of  this  kind.  Do 
we  not  read  the  authentic  histories  of  scenes  of  this 
nature  with  as  much  pleasure  as  romances  or  poems, 
where  the  incidents  are  fictitious  ?  The  prosperity 
of  no  empire,  nor  the  grandeur  of  no  king,  can  so 
agreeably  alTect  in  tlic  reading,  as  the  ruin  of  tlic 
sta.e  of  Maccdon,  and  the  distress  of  its  unliappy 
prince.  Such  a  catastrophe  touches  us  in  history  as 
much  as  the  destruction  of  Troy  docs  in  fable.  Our 
diiligbt,  in  cases  of  tliis  kind,  is  very  greatly  heiglit- 
ened,  it  the  sufferer  be  some  excellent  person  who 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  119 

'sinks  under  an  unworthy  fortune.  Scipio  and  Cato 
are  both  virtuous  characters  ;  but  we  are  more  deeply 
affected  by  the  violent  death  of  the  one,  and  the  ruin 
of  the  great  cause  he  adhered  to,  than  with  the  de 
served  triumphs  and  uninterrupted  prosperity  of  the 
other  :  for  terror  is  a  passion  wliicli  always  produces 
delight  when  it  does  not  press  too  closely  ;  and  pity 
is  a  passion  accompanied  with  pleasure,  because  it 
arises  from  love  and  social  affection.  Whenever  we 
are  formed  by  nature  to  any  active  purpose,  the  pas- 
sion which  animates  us  to  it  is  attended  with  deliglit, 
or  a  pleasure  of  some  kind,  let  the  subject-matter  be 
what  it  will ;  and  as  our  Creator  has  designed  that  we 
should  be  united  by  the  bond  of  sympathy,  he  has 
strengthened  that  bond  by  a  proportionable  delight ; 
and  there  most  where  our  sympathy  is  most  wanted, 
—  in  the  distresses  of  others.  If  this  passion  was 
simply  painful,  we  would  shun  with  the  greatest  care 
all  persons  and  places  that  could  excite  such  a  pas- 
sion ;  as  some,  who  are  so  far  gone  in  indolence  as 
not  to  endure  any  strong  impression,  actually  do. 
But  the  case  is  widely  different  with  the  greater  part 
of  mankind  ;  there  is  no  spectacle  we  so  eagerly  pur- 
sue, as  that  of  some  uncommon  and  grievous  calam- 
ity ;  so  that  whether  the  misfortune  is  before  our 
eyes,  or  whether  they  are  turned  back  to  it  in  history, 
it  always  touches  with  delight.  This  is  not  an  un- 
mixed delight,  but  blended  with  no  small  uneasiness. 
The  delight  we  have  in  such  things  hinders  us  from 
shunning  scenes  of  misery  ;  and  the  pain  w.e  feel 
prompts  us  to  relieve  ourselves  in  relieving  those 
who  suffer ;  and  all  this  antecedent  to  any  reasoning, 
by  an  instinct  that  works  us  to  its  own  purposes  with- 
out our  concurrence. 


120      ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

SECTION    XV. 

OP  THE    EFFECTS  OP   TRAGEDY. 

It  is  thus  in  real  calamities.  In  imitated  dis- 
tresses the  only  difference  is  the  pleasure  resulting 
ft'om  the  effects  of  imitation  ;  for  it  is  never  so  per- 
fect, but  we  can  perceive  it  is  imitation,  and  on  that 
principle  are  somewhat  pleased  with  it.  And  indeed 
in  some  cases  we  derive  as  much  or  more  pleasure 
from  that  source  than  from  the  thing  itself.  But 
then  I  imagine  we  shall  be  much  mistaken  if  we 
attribute  any  considerable  part  of  our  satisfaction  in 
tragedy  to  the  consideration  that  tragedy  is  a  deceit, 
and  its  representations  no  realities.  The  nearer  it 
approaches  the  reality,  and  the  further  it  removes 
us  from  all  idea  of  fiction,  the  more  perfect  is  its 
power.  But  be  its  power  of  what  kind  it  will,  it  never 
approaches  to  what  it  represents.  Choose  a  day  on 
which  to  represent  the  most  sublime  and  affecting 
tragedy  we  have  ;  appoint  the  most  favorite  actors ; 
spare  no  cost  upon  the  scenes  and  decorations ;  unite 
the  greatest  efforts  of  poetry,  painting,  and  music ; 
and  when  you  have  collected  your  audience,  just  at 
the  moment  when  their  minds  are  erect  with  expec- 
tation, let  it  be  reported  that  a  state  criminal  of  high 
rank  is  on  the  point  of  being  executed  in  the  adjoin- 
ing square  ;  in  a  moment  the  emptiness  of  the  thea- 
tre would  demonstrate  the  comparative  weakness  of 
tlie  imitative  arts,  and  proclaim  the  triumph  of  the 
real  sympathy.  I  believe  tliat  this  notion  of  our 
liaving  a  simi)le  pain  in  Iho  reality,  yet  a  delight  in 
the  representation,  arises  from  hence,  that  we  do  not 
sufficiently  distinguish  what  wo  would   l»y  im  nit-ans 


ON    THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL.  121 

choose  to  do,  from  wliat  we  should  be  eager  enough 
to  see  if  it  was  once  done.  We  delight  in  seeing 
things,  which  so  far  from  doing,  our  heartiest  wishes 
would  be  to  see  redressed.  This  noble  capital,  the 
pride  of  England  and  of  Europe,  I  believe  no  man  is 
so  strangely  wicked  as  to  desire  to  see  destroyed  by  a 
conflagration  or  an  earthquake,  though  he  should  be 
removed  himself  to  the  greatest  distance  from  the 
danger.  But  suppose  such  a  fatal  accident  to  have 
happened,  what  numbers  from  all  parts  would  crowd 
to  behold  the  ruins,  and  amongst  them  many  who 
would  have  been  content  never  to  have  seen  London 
in  its  glory !  Nor  is  it,  either  in  real  or  fictitious 
distresses,  our  immunity  from  them  which  produces 
our  delight ;  in  my  own  mind  I  can  discover  nothing 
like  it.  I  apprehend  that  this  mistake  is  owing  to  a 
sort  of  sophism,  by  which  we  are  frequently  imposed 
upon  ;  it  arises  from  our  not  distinguishing  between 
what  is  indeed  a  necessary  condition  to  our  doing  or 
suffering  anything  in  general,  and  what  is  the  cause 
of  some  particular  act.  If  a  man  kills  me  with  a 
sword,  it  is  a  necessary  condition  to  this  that  we 
should  have  been  both  of  us  alive  before  the  fact ; 
and  yet  it  would  be  absurd  to  say  that  our  being  both 
living  creatures  was  the  cause  of  his  crime  and  of  my 
death.  So  it  is  certain  that  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
my  life  should  be  out  of  any  imminent  hazard,  before 
I  can  take  a  delight  in  the  sufferings  of  others,  real  or 
imaginary,  or  indeed  in  anything  else  from  any  cause 
whatsoever.  But  then  it  is  a  sophism  to  argue  from 
thence  that  this  immunity  is  the  cause  of  my  delight 
either  on  these  or  on  any  occasions.  No  one  can 
distinguish  such  a  cause  of  satisfaction  in  his  own 
mind,  I  believe ;  nay,  when  we  do  not  suffer  any  very 


122       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

acute  pain,  nor  are  exposed  to  any  imminent  danger 
of  our  lives,  we  can  feel  for  others,  whilst  we  suffer 
ourselves  ;  and  often  then  most  when  we  are  softened 
by  affliction  ;  we  see  with  pity  even  distresses  which 
we  would  accept  in  the  place  of  our  own. 


SECTION    XV I. 

IMITATION, 

The  second  passion  belonging  to  society  is  imita- 
tion, or,  if  you  will,  a  desire  of  imitating,  and  conse- 
quently a  pleasure  in  it.  This  passion  arises  from 
much  the  same  cause  with  sympathy.  For  as  sym- 
pathy makes  us  take  a  concern  in  whatever  men  feel, 
so  this  affection  prompts  us  to  copy  whatever  they 
do  ;  and  consequently  we  have  a  pleasure  in  imitat- 
ing, and  in  whatever  belongs  to  imitation  merely  as 
it  is  such,  without  any  intervention  of  the  reasoning 
faculty,  but  solely  from  our  natural  constitution, 
which  Providence  has  framed  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  find  either  pleasure  or  delight,  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  object,  in  whatever  regards  the  pur- 
poses of  our  being.  It  is  by  imitation  far  more  than 
by  precept,  tliat  we  learn  everything ;  and  what  we 
learn  thus,  we  acquire  not  only  more  effectually, 
but  more  pleasantly.  This  forms  our  manners,  our 
opinions,  our  lives.  It  is  one  of  the  strongest  links 
of  society  ;  it  is  a  species  of  mutual  compliance, 
wliich  all  men  yield  to  each  otlier,  witlKuit  con- 
straint to  themselves,  and  wliicli  is  cxtronK^ly  flatter- 
ing to  all.  Herein  it  is  tiuit  painting  and  many  other 
agreeable  arts  have  laid  one  of  the  princijial  founda- 
tions of  their  power.     And  since,  by  its  influence  on 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       123 

our  manners  and  our  passions,  it  is  of  sucii  great 
consequence,  I  shall  here  venture  to  lay  down  a  rule, 
which  may  inform  us  with  a  good  degree  of  certainty 
when  we  are  to  attribute  the  power  of  the  arts  to 
imitation,  or  to  our  pleasure  in  the  skill  of  the  imita- 
tor merely,  and  when  to  sympathy,  or  some  other 
cause  in  conjunction  with  it.  When  the  object  repre- 
sented in  poetry  or  painting  is  such  as  we  could  have 
no  desire  of  seeing  in  the  reality,  then  I  may  be  sure 
that  its  power  in  poetry  or  painting  is  owing  to  the 
power  of  imitation,  and  to  no  cause  operating  in  the 
thing  itself.  So  it  is  with  most  of  the  pieces  which 
tlie  painters  call  still-life.  In  these  a  cottage,  a 
dung-hill,  the  meanest  and  most  ordinary  utensils 
of  the  kitchen,  are  capable  of  giving  us  pleasure. 
But  when  the  object  of  the  painting  or  poem  is  such 
as  we  should  run  to  see  if  real,  let  it  affect  us  with 
what  odd  sort  of  sense  it  will,  we  may  rely  upon  it 
that  the  power  of  the  poem  or  picture  is  more  owing 
to  the  nature  of  the  thing  itself  than  to  the  mere 
effect  of  imitation,  or  to  a  consideration  of  the  skill 
of  the  imitator,  however  excellent.  Aristotle  has 
spoken  so  much  and  so  solidly  upon  the  force  of 
imitation  in  his  Poetics,  that  it  makes  any  further 
discourse  upon  this  subject  the  less  necessary. 


SECTION    XVII. 

AMBITION. 

Although  imitation  is  one  of  the  great  instruments 
used  by  Providence  in  bringing  our  nature  towards 
its  perfection,  yet  if  men  gave  themselves  up  to  imita- 
tion entirely,  and  each  followed  the  other,  and  so  on 


124  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

hi  an  eternal  circle,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  there  never 
could  be  any  improvement  amongst  them.  Men 
must  remain  as  brutes  do,  the  same  at  the  end  that 
they  are  at  this  day,  and  that  they  were  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  world.  To  prevent  this,  God  has  planted 
in  man  a  sense  of  ambition,  and  a  satisfaction  arising 
from  the  contemplation  of  his  excelling  his  fellows  in 
something  deemed  valuable  amongst  them.  It  is  this 
passion  that  drives  men  to  all  the  ways  we  see  in  use 
of  signalizing  themselves,  and  that  tends  to  make 
whatever  excites  in  a  man  the  idea  of  this  distinction 
so  very  pleasant.  It  has  been  so  strong  as  to  make 
very  miserable  men  take  comfort,  that  they  were  su- 
preme in  misery ;  and  certain  it  is  that,  where  we 
cannot  disting-uish  ourselves  by  something  excellent, 
we  begin  to  take  a  complacency  in  some  singular 
infirmities,  follies,  or  defects  of  one  kind  or  other. 
It  is  on  this  principle  that  flattery  is  so  prevalent ; 
for  flattery  is  no  more  than  what  raises  in  a  man's 
mind  an  idea  of  a  preference  which  he  has  not. 
Now,  whatever,  either  on  good  or  upon  bad  grounds, 
tends  to  raise  a  man  in  his  own  opinion,  produces  a 
sort  of  swelling  and  triumph,  that  is  extremely  grate- 
ful to  the  human  mind ;  and  this  swelling  is  never 
more  perceived,  nor  operates  with  more  force,  than 
when  without  danger  we  are  conversant  with  terrible 
oljjects  ;  the  mind  always  claiming  to  itself  some  part 
of  the  dignity  and  importance  of  the  things  which  it 
contcnii)latcs.  Ilence  proceeds  what  Longinus  has 
observed  of  that  glorying  and  sense  of  inward  greats 
ncss,  that  always  fills  the  reader  of  such  passages  in 
])oets  and  orators  as  are  sublime :  it  is  what  every 
man  must  have  felt  in  himself  upon  such  occasions. 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       12") 

SECTION    XVIII. 

THE    RECAPITULATION. 

To  draw  the  whole  of  what  has  been  said  into  a 
few  distinct  points  :  —  The  passions  which  belong  to 
self-preservation  turn  on  pain  and  danger ;  they  are 
simply  painful  when  their  causes  immediately  affect 
us  ;  they  are  delightful  when  we  have  an  idea  of  pain 
and  danger,  without  being  actually  in  such  circum- 
stances ;  this  delight  I  have  not  called  pleasure,  be- 
cause it  turns  on  pain,  and  because  it  is  different 
enough  from  any  idea  of  positive  pleasure.  What- 
ever excites  this  delight,  I  call  sublime.  The  pas- 
sions belonging  to  self-preservation  are  the  strongest 
of  all  the  passions. 

The  second  head  to  which  the  passions  are  referred 
with  relation  to  their  final  cause,  is  society.  There 
are  two  sorts  of  societies.  The  first  is,  the  society  of 
sex.  The  passion  belonging  to  this  is  called  love, 
and  it  contains  a  mixture  of  lust ;  its  object  is  the 
beauty  of  women.  The  other  is  the  great  society 
with  man  and  all  other  animals.  The  passion  sub- 
servient to  this  is  called  likewise  love,  but  it  has  no 
mixture  of  lust,  and  its  object  is  beauty ;  which  is  a 
name  I  shall  apply  to  all  such  qualities  in  things  as 
induce  in  us  a  sense  of  affection  and  tenderness,  or 
some  other  passion  the  most  nearly  resembling  these. 
The  passion  of  love  has  its  rise  in  positive  pleasure  ; 
it  is,  like  all  things  which  grow  out  of  pleasure,  capa- 
ble of  being  mixed  with  a  mode  of  uneasiness,  that  is, 
when  an  idea  of  its  object  is  excited  in  the  mind  with 
an  idea  at  the  same  time  of  having  irretrievably  lost 
it.     This  mixed  sense  of  pleasure  I  have  not  called 


120  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

pain,  because  it  turns  upon  actual  pleasure,  and  be- 
cause it  is,  both  in  its  cause  and  in  most  of  its  effects, 
of  a  nature  altogether  different. 

Next  to  the  general  passion  we  have  for  society,  to 
a  choice  in  which  we  are  directed  by  the  pleasure  we 
have  in  the  object,  the  particular  passion  under  this 
head  called  sympathy  has  the  greatest  extent.  The 
nature  of  this  passion  is,  to  put  us  in  the  place  of  an- 
other in  whatever  circumstance  he  is  in,  and  to  affect 
us  in  a  like  manner ;  so  that  this  passion  may,  as  the 
occasion  requires,  turn  either  on  pain  or  pleasure ; 
but  with  the  modifications  mentioned  in  some  cases 
in  Sect.  11.  As  to  imitation  and  preference,  nothing 
more  need  be  said. 


SECTION    XIX. 

THE    CONCLUSION. 

I  BELIEVED  that  an  attempt  to  range  and  methodize 
some  of  our  most  leading  passions  would  be  a  good 
preparative  to  such  an  inquiry  as  we  are  going  to 
make  in  the  ensuing  discourse.  The  passions  I  have 
mentioned  are  almost  the  only  ones  which  it  can  be 
necessary  to  consider  in  our  present  design ;  though 
the  variety  of  the  passions  is  great,  and  worthy,  in 
every  branch  of  that  variety,  of  an  attentive  investi- 
gation. The  more  accurately  we  searcli  into  the  hu- 
man mind,  the  stronger  traces  we  everywhere  find  of 
His  wisdom  who  made  it.  If  a  discourse  on  the  use 
of  the  parts  of  tlie  l)ody  may  l)e  considered  as  a  hymn 
to  the  Creator  ;  the  use  of  the  passions,  which  are  the 
orgjins  of  the  mind,  cannot  be  barren  of  praise  to  him, 
nor  unproductive  to  ourselves  of  that  noble  and  uu- 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       127 

common  union  of  science  and  admiration,  which  a  con- 
templation of  the  worlds  of  infinite  wisdom  alone  can 
afford  to  a  rational  mind  ;  whilst,  referring  to  him 
whatever  we  find  of  right  or  good  or  fair  in  ourselves, 
discovering  his  strength  and  wisdom  even  in  our  own 
weakness  and  imperfection,  honoring  them  where  we 
discover  them  clearly,  and  adoring  their  profundity 
where  we  are  lost  in  our  search,  we  may  be  inquis- 
itive without  impertinence,  and  elevated  without 
pride ;  we  may  be  admitted,  if  I  may  dare  to  say  so, 
into  the  counsels  of  the  Almighty  by  a  consideration 
of  his  works.  The  elevation  of  the  mind  ought  to  be 
the  principal  end  of  all  our  studies  ;  which,  if  they  do 
not  in  some  measure  effect,  they  are  of  very  little  ser- 
vice to  us.  But,  besides  this  great  purpose,  a  consid- 
eration of  the  rationale  of  our  passions  seems  to  me 
very  necessary  for  all  who  would  affect  them  upon 
solid  and  sure  principles.  It  is  not  enough  to  know 
them  in  general ;  to  affect  them  after  a  delicate  man- 
ner, or  to  judge  properly  of  any  work  designed  to  af- 
fect them,  we  should  know  the  exact  boundaries^of 
their  several  jurisdictions  ;  we  should  pursue  them 
through  all  their  variety  of  operations,  and  pierce 
into  the  inmost,  and  wliat  might  appear  inaccessible 
parts  of  our  nature, 

'  Quod  latet  arcana  non  enarrabile  fibrS,. 

Without  all  this  it  is  possible  for  a  man,  after  a  con- 
fused manner  sometimes  to  satisfy  his  own  mind  of 
the  truth  of  his  work ;  but  he  can  never  have  a  cer- 
tain determinate  rule  to  go  by,  nor  can  he  ever  make 
his  propositions  sufficiently  clear  to  others.  Poets, 
and  orators,  and  painters,  and  those  who  cultivate 
other  branches  of  the  liberal  arts,  have,  without  this 


128  ON   THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

critical  knowledge,  succeeded  well  in  their  several 
provinces,   and   will    succeed :    as   among    artificers 
there  are  many  machines  made  and  even  invented 
without  any  exact  knowledge  of  the  principles  they 
are  governed  by.     It  is,  I  own,  not  uncommon  to  be 
wrong  in  theory,  and  right  in  practice :  and  we  are 
happy  that  it  is  so.     Men  often  act  right  from  their 
feelings,  who  afterwards  reason  but  ill  on  them  from 
principle ;  but  as  it  is  impossible  to  avoid  an  attempt 
at  such  reasoning,  and  equally  impossible  to  prevent 
its  ha^^ng  some  influence  on  our  practice,  surely  it  is 
worth  taking  some  pains  to  have  it  just,  and  founded 
on  the  basis  of  sure  experience.     We  might  expect 
that  the   artists   themselves  would    have   been   our 
surest  guides ;   but  the  artists  have  been  too  much 
occupied  in  the  practice  :  the  philosophers  have  done 
little  ;  and  what  they  have  done,  was  mostly  with  a 
view  to  their  own  schemes  and  systems  ;  and  as  for 
those  called  pritics,  they  have  generally  sought  the 
rule  of  the  arts  in  the  wrong  place ;  tliey  sought  it 
among    poems,    pictures,   engravings,    statues,    and 
buildings.     But  art  can  never   give   the  rules  that 
make  an  art.     This  is,  I  believe,  the  reason  why  art- 
ists in  general,  and  poets,  principally,  have  been  con- 
fined in  so  narrow  a  circle:  they  have  been  rather 
imitators  of  one  another  than  of  nature;  and  this 
with  so  faithful  an  uniformity,  and  to  so  remote  an 
antiquity,  that  it  is  hard  to  say  wlio  gave  the  first 
model.     Critics  follow  them,  and  therefore  can  do  lit- 
tle as  guides.     I  can  judge  but  poorly  of  anything, 
whilst  1  measure  it  by  no  otber  standard  tban   itself. 
The  true  standard  of  the  arts  is  in  every  man's  pow- 
er ;  an<l  an  easy  observation  of  the  most  common, 
sometimes  of  Mh'  meanest  things  in  nature,  will  give 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       129 

the  truest  lights,  where  the  greatest  sagacity  and  in- 
dustry, that  shghts  such  observation,  must  leave  us 
hi  the  dark,  or,  what  is  worse,  amuse  and  mislead  us 
by  false  lights.  In  an  inquiry  it  is  almost  everything 
to  be  once  in  a  right  road.  I  am  satisfied  I  have  done 
but  little  by  these  observations  considered  in  them- 
selves ;  and  I  never  should  have  taken  the  pains  to 
digest  them,  much  less  should  I  have  ever  ventured 
to  publish  them,  if  I  was  not  convinced  that  nothing 
tends  more  to  the  corruption  of  science  than  to  suffer 
it  to  stagnate.  These  waters  must  be  troubled,  be- 
fbre  they  can  exert  their  virtues.  A  man  who  works 
beyond  the  surface  of  things,  though  he  may  be  wrong 
himself,  yet  he  clears  the  way  for  others,  and  may 
chance  to  make  even  his  errors  subservient  to  the 
cause  of  truth.  In  the  following  parts  I  shall  inquire 
wlxat  things  they  are  that  cause  in  us  the  affections 
of  the  sublime  and  beautiful,  as  in  this  I  have  consid- 
ered the  affections  themselves.  I  only  desire  one  fa- 
vor, —  that  no  part  of  this  discourse  may  be  judged 
of  by  itself,  and  independently  of  the  rest ;  for  I  am 
sensible  I  have  not  disposed  my  materials  to  abide 
the  test  of  a  captious  controversy,  but  of  a  sober  and 
even  forgiving  examination  ;  that  they  are  not  armed 
at  all  points  for  battle,  but  dressed  to  visit  those  who 
SLTG  willing  to  give  a  peaceful  entrance  to  truth. 


VOL.  I 


130  ON   THE  SUBLIME  AND   BEAUTIFUL. 


PART    II. 
SECTION   I. 

OF   THE   PASSION    CAUSED    BY   THE    SUBLIME. 

The  passion  caused  by  the  great  and  sublime  in 
nature,  when  those  causes  operate  most  powerfully,  is 
astonishment :  and  astonishment  is  that  state  of  the 
soul  in  which  all  its  motions  are  suspended,  with 
some  degree  of  horror.  *  In  this  case  the  mind  is  so 
entirely  filled  with  its  object,  that  it  cannot  entertain 
any  other,  nor  by  consequence  reason  on  that  object 
which  employs  it.  Hence  arises  the  great  power  of 
the  sublime,  that,  far  from  l^eing  produced  by  them,  it 
anticipates  our  reasonings,  and  hurries  us  on  by  an 
irresistible  force.  Astonishment,  as  I  have  said,  is 
the  effect  of  the  sublime  in  its  highest  degree  ;  the 
inferior  effects  are  admiration,  reverence,  and  respect 

SECTION    II. 

TERROR. 

No  passion  so  effectually  robs  the  mind  of  all  its 
powers  of  acting  and  reasoning  as  fear,  f  For  fear 
being  an  apprehension  of  pain  or  death,  it  operates 
in  a  manner  that  resembles  actual  i)ain.  Wbatevcr 
therefore  is  terril)le,  with  regard  t^^  sight,  is  sul»liiue 
too,  wliethcr  this  cause  of  terror  be  endued  witli 
greatness  of  dimensions  or  not ;  for  it  is  impossildo 
to  look  on  anything  as  ti-ifling,  or  contemj)til)le,  that 

•  Part  I.  Hcct.  3,  4,  7.  t  Tart  IV.  sect.  3,  4,  5,  6. 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  131 

may  be  dangerous.  There  are  many  animals,  who, 
though  far  from  being  large,  are  yet  capable  of  rais- 
ing ideas  of  the  sublime,  because  they  are  considered 
as  objects  of  terror.  As  serpents  and  poisonous  ani- 
mals of  almost  all  kinds.  And  to  things  of  great 
dimensions,  if  we  annex  an  adventitious  idea  of  ter- 
ror, they  become  without  comparison  greater.  A 
level  plain  of  a  vast  extent  on  land,  is  certainly  no 
mean  idea ;  the  prospect  of  such  a  plain  may  be  ay 
extensive  as  a  prospect  of  the  ocean  ;  but  can  it  ever 
fill  the  mind  with  anything  so  great  as  the  ocean 
itself?  This  is  owing  to  several  caiises ;  but  it  is 
owing  to  none  more  than  this,  that  the  ocean  is  an 
object  of  no  small  terror.  Indeed  terror  is  in  all 
cases  whatsoever,  either  more  openly  or  latently,  the 
ruling  principle  of  the  sublime.  Several  languages 
bear  a  strong  testimony  to  the  affinity  of  these  ideas. 
They  frequently  use  the  same  word  to  signify  indiffer- 
ently the  modes  of  astonishment  or  admiration  and 
those  of  terror.  ©dul3o<i  is  in  Greek  either  fear  or 
wonder ;  Seti-o?  is  terrible  or  respectable ;  alSeco,  to 
reverence  or  to  fear.  Vereor  in  Latin  is  what  alSeo) 
is  in  Greek.  The  Romans  used  the  verb  stupeo, 
a  term  which  strongly  marks  the  state  of  an  aston- 
ished mind,  to  express  the  effect  either  of  simple  fear, 
or  of  astonishment ;  the  word  attonitus  (thunder- 
struck) is  equally  expressive  of  the  alliance  of  these 
ideas ;  and  do  not  the  French  etonnement,  and  the 
English  astonishinent  and  amazement,  point  out  as 
clearly  the  kindred  emotions  which  attend  fear  and 
wonder  ?  They  who  have  a  more  general  knowledge 
of  languages,  could  produce,  I  make  no  doubt,  many 
other  and  equally  striking  examples. 


L32  ON  THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

SECTION    III. 

-  OBSCURITY. 

To  make  anything  very  terrible,  obscurity  *  seems 
in  general  to  be  necessary.  Wlien  we  know  the  full 
extent  of  any  danger,  when  we  can  accustom  our 
eyes  to  it,  a  great  deal  of  the  apprehension  vanishes. 
Every  one  will  be  sensible  of  this,  who  considers  how 
greatly  night  adds  to  our  dread,  in  all  cases  of  dan- 
ger, and  how  much  the  notions  of  ghosts  and  goblins, 
of  which  none  can  form  clear  ideas,  affect  minds 
which  gi'"^e  credit  to  the  popular  tales  concerning 
such  sorts  of  beings.  Those  despotic  governments 
which  are  founded  on  the  passions  of  men,  and  prin- 
cipally,upon  the  passion  of  fear,  keep  their  chief  as 
much  as  may  be  from  the  public  eye.  The  policy 
has  been  the  same  in  many  cases  of  religion.  Al- 
most all  the  heathen  temples  were  dark.  Even  in 
the  barbarous  temples  of  the  Americans  at  this  day, 
they  keep  their  idol  in  a  dark  part  of  the  hut,  which  is 
consecrated  to  his  worsliip.  For  this  purpose  too  the 
Druids  performed  all  their  ceremonies  in  the  bosom 
of  the  darkest  woods,  and  in  the  shade  of  the  oldest 
and  most  spreading  oaks.  No  person  seems  better  to 
have  understood  the  secret  of  heightening,  or  of  set- 
ting terrible  things,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  in 
their  strongest  light,  by  the  force  of  a  judicious 
obscurity  tlian  Milton.  His  description  of  death  in 
the  second  book  is  admirably  studied;  it  is  astonish- 
ing with  what  a  gloomy  j)omp,witli  what  a  significant 
and  expressive  uncertainty  of  strokes  and  coloring, 
ho  has  finislicd  tlic  portrait  of  (bo  king  of  terrors: 

•  Part  IV.  Bcct.  14,  15,  16. 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       133 

"  The  other  shape, 
If  shape  it  might  be  called  that  shape  had  none 
Distinguishable,  in  member,  joint,  or  limb  ; 
Or  substance  might  be  called  that  shadow  seemed ; 
For  each  seemed  either ;  black  he  stood  as  night ; 
Fierce  as  ten  furies  ;  terrible  as  hell ; 
And  shdok  a  deadly  dart.     What  seemed  his  head 
The  likeness  of  a  kingly  crown  had  on." 

Ill  this  description  all  is  dark,  uncertain,  confused, 
terrible,  and  sublime  to  the  last  degree. 


SECTION    IV. 

OF    THE    DIFFERENCE    BETWEEN    CLEARNESS    AND     OBSCU- 
RITY   WITH    REGARD    TO    THE    PASSIONS. 

It  is  one  thing  to  make  an  idea  clear,  and  another 
to  make  it  affecting  to  the  imagination.  If  I  make  a 
drawing  of  a  palace,  or  a  temple,  or  a  landscape,  I 
present  a  very  clear  idea  of  those  objects ;  but  then 
(allowing  for  the  effect  of  imitation  wiiich  is  some- 
thing) my  picture  can  at  most  affect  only  as  the 
palace,  temple,  or  landscape,  would  have  affected  in 
the  reality.  On  the  other  hand,  the  most  lively  and 
spirited  verbal  description  I  can  give  raises  a  very 
obscure  and  imperfect  idea  of  such  objects ;  but  then 
it  is  in  my  power  to  raise  a  stronger  emotion  by 
the  description  than  I  could  do  by  the  best  paint- 
ing. This  experience  constantly  evinces.  The  proper 
manner  of  conveying  the  affections  of  the  mind  from 
one  to  another  is  by  words ;  there  is  a  great  insuffi- 
ciency in  all  other  methods  of  communication ;  and 
so  far  is  a  clearness  of  imagery  from  being  absolutely 
necessary  to  an  influence  upon  the  passions,  that 
they  may   be   considerably  operated   upon,  without 


134       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

presenting  any  image  at  all,  by  certain  sounds 
adapted  to  that  purpose ;  of  which  we  have  a  suffi- 
cient proof  in  the  acknowledged  and  powerful  effects 
of  instrumental  music.  In  reality,  a  great  clearness 
helps  hut  little  towards  affecting  the  passions,  as  it  is 
in  some  sort  an  enemy  to  all  enthusiasms  whatsoever. 


SECTION    [IV]. 

THE   SAME    SUBJECT    CONTIXUED. 

Theee  are  two  verses  in  Horace's  Art  of  Poetry 
that  seem  to  contradict  this  opinion  ;  for  which  rear 
son  I  shall  take  a  little  more  pains  in  clearing  it  up. 
The  verses  are, 

Segnius  irritant  animos  demissa  per  aures, 
Quam  quae  sunt  ocnlis  subjecta  fidelibus. 

On  this  the  Abb^  du  Bos  founds  a  criticism, 
wherein  he  gives  painting  the  preference  to  poetry 
in  the  article  of  moving  the  passions  ;  principally  on 
account  of  the  greater  clearness  of  the  ideas  it  repre- 
sents. I  believe  this  excellent  judge  was  led  into  this 
mistake  (if  it  be  a  mistake)  by  his  system  ;  to  which 
he  found  it  more  conformable  tlian  I  imagine  it  will 
be  found  to  experience.  I  know  several  who  admire 
and  love  painting,  and  yet  who  regard  the  objects  of 
tlieir  admiration  in  that  art  with  coolness  enough  in 
comparison  of  that  warmth  with  which  they  are 
animated  by  affecting  pieces  of  poetry  or  rhetoric. 
Among  tlie  common  sort  of  people,  I  never  could 
perceive  that  painting  had  much  influence  on  their 
|)assions.  It  is  true  that  the  ))est  sorts  of  painting,  as 
well  as  the  best  sorts  of  poetry,  arc  not  much  under- 
stood in  that  sphere.     But  it  is  most  certain  that 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  135 

their  passions  are  very  strongly  roused  by  a  fanatic 
preacher,  or  by  the  ballads  of  Chevy  Chase,  or  the 
Children  in  the  Wood,  and  by  other  little  popular 
poems  and  tales  that  are  current  in  that  rank  of  life. 
I  do  not  know  of  any  paintings,  bad  or  good,  that 
produce  the  same  effect.  So  that  poetry,  with  all  its 
obscurity,  has  a  more  general,  as  well  as  a  more 
powerful  dominion  over  the  passions,  than  the  other 
art.  And  I  think  there  are  reasons  in  nature,  why 
the  obscure  idea,  when  properly  conveyed,  should  be 
more  affecting  than  the  clear.  It  is  our  ignorance  of 
things  that  causes  all  our  admiration,  and  chiefly 
excites  our  passions.  Knowledge  and  acquaintance 
make  the  most  striking  causes  affect  but  little.  It  is 
thus  with  the  vulgar ;  and  all  men  are  as  the  vulgar 
in  what  they  do  not  understand.  The  ideas  of  eter- 
nity, and  infinity,  are  among  the  most  affecting  we 
have :  and  yet  perhaps  there  is  nothing  of  which  we 
really  understand  so  little,  as  of  infinity  and  eternity. 
We  do  not  anywhere  meet  a  more  sublime  descrip- 
tion than  this  justly-celebrated  one  of  Milton,  wherein 
he  gives  the  portrait  of  Satan  with  a  dignity  so  suit- 
able to  the  subject : 

"  He  above  tlie  rest 
In  shape  and  gesture  proudly  eminent 
Stood  like  a  tower  ;  his  form  had  yet  not  lost 
All  her  original  brightness,  nor  appeared 
Less  than  archangel  ruined,  and  th'  excess 
Of  glory  obscured  :  as  when  the  sun  new  risen 
Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air 
Shorn  of  his  beams  ;  or  from  behind  the  moon 
In  dim  eclipse  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  nations  ;  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs." 

Here  is  a  very  noble  picture ;  and  in  what  does  this 


136  ON   THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL, 

poetical  picture  consist  ?  In  images  of  a  tower,  an 
archangel,  the  sun  rising  through  mists,  or  in  an 
eclipse,  the  riiin  of  monarchs  and  the  revolutions  of 
kingdoms.  The  mind  is  hurried  out  of  itself,  by  a 
crowd  of  great  and  confused  images ;  which  affect 
because  they  are  crowded  and  confused.  For  sepa- 
rate them,  and  you  lose  much  of  the  greatness  ;  and 
join  them,  and  you  infallibly  lose  the  clearness.  The 
images  raised  by  poetry  are  always  of  this  obscure 
kind  ;  though  in  general  the  effects  of  poetry  are  by 
no  means  to  be  attributed  to  the  images  it  raises  ; 
which  point  we  shall  examine  more  at  large  here- 
after.* But  painting,  when  we  have  allowed  for  the 
pleasure  of  imitation,  can  only  affect ^.rsimply  by  the 
images  it  presents  ;  and  even  in  painting,  a  judicious 
obscurity  in  some  things  contributes  to  the  effect  of 
the  picture ;  because  the  images  in  painting  are 
exactly  similar  to  those  in  nature ;  and  in  nature, 
dark,  confused,  uncertain  images  have  a  greater 
power  on  the  fancy  to  form  the  grander  passions, 
tlian  those  have  which  are  more  clear  and  deter- 
minate. But  wlierc  and  when  this  observation  may 
be  aj)])licd  to  practice,  and  how  for  it  shall  be  ex- 
tended, will  be  better  deduced  from  the  nature  of 
the  subject,  and  from  the  occasion,  than  from  any 
rules  that  can  be  given. 

I  am  sensible  that  this  idea  has  met  with  opposi- 
tion, and  is  likely  still  to  be  rejected  by  several. 
But  let  it  be  considered  tliat  hardly  anything  can 
strike  the  mind  with  its  greatness,  which  docs  not 
make  some  sort  of  approacb  towards  infinity  ;  which 
notliing  can  do  whilst  we  are  al)lc  to  perceive  its 
bounds ;  but  to  see  an  object  distinctly,  and  to  per 

♦  Purt  V. 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       137 

* 

ceive  its  bounds,  is  one  and  the  same  thing.  A  clear 
idea  is  therefore  anotlier  name  for  a  little  idea. 
There  is  a  passage  in  the  book  of  Job  amazingly 
sublime,  and  this  sublimity  is  principally  due  to 
the  terrible  uncertainty  of  the  thing  described :  In 
thovghts  from  the  visions  of  the  7ii(j/ht,  when  deep  sleep 
falleth  upon  men,  fear  came  upon  me  and  trembling, 
which  made  all  my  hones  to  shake.  Then  a  spirit  passed 
before  my  face.  The  hair  of  my  flesh  stood  up.  It 
stood  still,  but  I  could  not  discern  the  form  thereof; 
an  image  was  before  mine  eyes  ;  there  was  silence  ;  and 
I  heard  a  voice,  —  Shall  mortal  man  be  more  just  than 
G-odf  We  are  first  prepared  with  the  utmost  so- 
lemnity for  the  vision ;  we  are  first  terrified,  be- 
fore we  are  let  even  into  the  obscure  cause  of  our 
emotion  :  but  when  this  grand  cause  of  terror  makes 
its  appearance,  what  is  it  ?  Is  it  not  wrapt  up  in  the 
shades  of  its  own  incomprehensible  darkness,  more 
awful,  more  striking,  more  terrible,  than  the  liveliest 
description,  than  the  clearest  painting,  could  possibly 
represent  it  ?  When  painters  have  attempted  to  give 
us  clear  representations  of  these  very  fanciful  and 
terrible  ideas,  they  have,  I  think,  almost  always 
failed ;  insomuch  that  I  have  been  at  a  loss,  in  all 
the  pictures  I  have  seen  of  hell,  to  determine  whether 
the  painter  did  not  intend  something  ludicrous.  Sev- 
eral painters  have  handled  a  subject  of  this  kind,  with 
a  view  of  assembling  as  many  horrid  phantoms  as  their 
imagination  could  suggest ;  but  all  the  designs  I  have 
chanced  to  meet  of  the  temptations  of  St.  Anthony 
were  rather  a  sort  of  odd,  wild  grotesques,  than  any 
thing  capable  of  producing  a  serious  passion.  In  all 
these  subjects  poetry  is  very  happy.  Its  apparitions, 
its  chimeras,  its  harpies,  its  allegorical  figures,  are 


138      ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

grand  and  affecting ;  and  though  Yirgil's  Fame  and 
Homer's  Discord  are  obscure,  they  are  magnificent 
figures.  Tliese  figures  in  painting  would  be  clear 
p.nough,  but  I  fear  they  might  become  ridiculous. 


SECTION    V. 

POWER. 

Besides  those  things  which  directly  suggest  the 
idea  of  danger,  and  those  wliich  produce  a  similar 
effect  from  a  mechanical  cause,  I  know  of  nothing 
sublime,  which  is  not  some  modification  of  power. 
And  this  branch  rises,  as  naturally  as  the  other  two 
branches,  from  terror,  the  common  stock  of  every- 
thing that  is  sublime.  The  idea  of  power,  at  first 
view,  seems  of  the  class  of  those  indifferent  ones, 
which  may  equally  belong  to  pain  or  to  pleasure. 
But  in  reality,  the  affection  arising  from  the  idea  of 
vast  power  is  extremely  remote  from  that  neutral 
character.  For  first,  we  must  remember  *  that  the 
idea  of  pain,  in  its  highest  degree,  is  much  stronger 
than  the  highest  degree  of  pleasure  ;  and  that  it  pre- 
serves the  same  superiority  through  all  the  subordi- 
nate gradations.  From  hence  it  is,  that  where  the 
chances  for  equal  degrees  of  suffering  or  enjoyment 
are  in  any  sort  equal,  the  idea  of  the  suffering  must 
always  be  prevalent.  And  indeed  the  ideas  of  pain, 
and,  above  all,  of  death,  are  so  very  affecting,  that 
wliilst  wc  remain  in  the  presence  of  whatever  is  sup- 
posed to  have  the  power  of  inflicting  cither,  it  is  im- 
po.ssil)le  to  be  perfectly  free  from  terror.  Again,  wo 
know  by  experience,  tliat,  for  the  enjoyment  of  pleas- 

•  Part  I.  sect.  7. 


ON  THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  139 

ure,  no  great  efforts  of  power  are  at  all  necessary ; 
nay,  we  know  that  such  efforts  would  go  a  great  way 
towards  destroying  our  satisfaction  :  for  pleasure  must 
be  stolen,  and  not  forced  upon  us ;  pleasure  follows  the 
will ;  and  therefore  we  are  generally  affected  with  it 
by  many  things  of  a  force  greatly  inferior  to  our  own. 
But  pain  is  always  inflicted  by  a  power  in  some  way 
superior,  because  we  never  submit  to  pain  willingly. 
So  that  strength,  violence,  pain,  and  terror,  are  ideas 
that  rush  in  upon  the  mind  together.  Look  at  a 
man,  or  any  other  animal  of  prodigious  strength,  and 
what  is  your  idea  before  reflection  ?  Is  it  that  this 
strength  will  be  subservient  to  you,  to  your  ease,  to 
your  pleasure,  to  your  interest  in  any  sense  ?  No  ; 
the  emotion  you  feel  is,  lest  this  enormous  strength 
should  be  employed  to  the  purposes  of*  rapine  and  de- 
struction. That  power  derives  all  its  sublimity  from 
the  terror  with  which  it  is  generally  accompanied, 
will  appear  evidently  from  its  effect  in  the  very  few 
cases,  in  which  it  may  be  possible  to  strip  a  consider- 
able degree  of  strength  of  its  ability  to  hurt.  When 
you  do  this,  you  spoil  it  of  everything  sublime,  and  it 
immediately  becomes  contemptible.  An  ox  is  a  crea- 
ture of  vast  strength  ;  but  he  is  an  innocent  creature, 
extremely  serviceable,  and  not  at  all  dangerous ;  for 
which  reason  the  idea  of  an  ox  is  by  no  means  grand. 
A  bull  is  strong  too ;  but  his  strength  is  of  another 
kind  ;  often  very  destructive,  seldom  (at  least  amongst 
us)  of  any  use  in  our  business  ;  the  idea  of  a  bull  is 
therefore  great,  and  it  has  frequently  a  place  in  sub- 
lime descriptions,  and  elevating  comparisons.  Let  us 
look  at  another  strong  animal,  in  the  two  distinct 
lights  in  which  we  may  consider  him.     The  horse  in 

*  Vide  Part  III.  sect.  21. 


140  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

the  light  of  an  useful  beast,  fit  for  the  jjlough,  the 
road,  the  draft ;  in  every  social  useful  light,  the  horse 
has  nothing  sublime ;  but  is  it  thus  that  we  are  af- 
fected with  him,  whose  neck  is  clothed  with  thunder, 
the  glory  of  ivhose  nostrils  is  terrible,  who  swalloioeth 
the  ground  with  fierceness  and  rage,  neither  helieveth 
that  it  is  the  sound  of  the  trumpet  f  Li  this  description, 
the  useful  character  of  the  horse  entirely  disappears, 
and  the  terrible  and  sublime  blaze  out  together.  We 
have  continually  about  us  animals  of  a  strength  that 
is  considerable,  but  not  pernicious.  Amongst  these  we 
never  look  for  the  sublime  ;  it  comes  upon  us  in  the 
gloomy  forest,  and  in  the  howling  wilderness,  in  the 
form  of  the  lion,  the  tiger,  the  panther,  or  rhinoceros. 
Whenever  strength  is  only  useful,  and  employed  for 
our  benefit  or  our  pleasure,  then  it  is  never  sublime  ; 
for  nothing  can  act  agreeably  to  us,  that  does  not  act 
in  conformity  to  our  will ;  but  to  act  agreeably  to 
our  will,  it  must  be  subject  to  us,  and  therefore  can 
never  be  the  cause  of  a  grand  and  commanding  con- 
ception. The  description  of  the  wild  ass,  in  Job,  is 
worked  up  into  no  small  sublimity,  merely  by  insist- 
ing on  his  freedom,  and  his  setting  mankind  at  defi- 
ance ;  otherwise  the  description  of  such  an  animal 
could  have  had  nothing  noble  in  it.  Who  hath  loosed 
(says  he)  the  hands  of  the  wild  ass  ?  ivhose  house  I 
have  made  the  wilderness  and  the  barren  land  his 
divelUngs.  He  scorneth  the  nndtitude  of  the  city,  nei- 
ther regardeth  he  the  voice  of  the  driver.  The  range 
of  the  mountains  is  his  pasture.  The  magnificent  de- 
scription of  the  unicorn  and  of  leviathan,  in  the  same 
book,  is  full  of  the  same  heightening  circumstances : 
Will  the  unicorn  be  willing  to  serve  thee?  canst  thou 
bind -the  unicorn  with  his  band  in  the  furrow?  wilt  thou 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL.  141 

trust  him  because  his  strength  is  great? —  Canst  thou 
draw  out  leviathan  with  an  hook  ?  will  he  make  a  cove- 
nant with  thee  ?  wilt  thou  take  him  for  a  servant  for- 
ever? shall  not  one  he  cast  down  even  at  the  sight  of 
him?  In  short,  wheresoever  we  find  strength,  and  in 
what  light  soever  we  look  upon  power,  we  shall  all 
along  observe  the  sublime  the  concomitant  of  terror, 
and  contempt  the  attendant  on  a  strength  that  is  sub- 
servient and  innoxious.  The  race  of  dogs,  in  many 
of  their  kinds,  have  generally  a  competent  degree  of 
strength  and  swiftness ;  and  they  exert  these  and 
other  valuable  qualities  which  they  possess,  greatly 
to  our  convenience  and  pleasure.  Dogs  are  indeed 
the  most  social,  affectionate,  and  amiable  animals  of 
the  whole  brute  creation  ;  but  love  approaches  much 
nearer  to  contempt  than  is  commonly  imagined  ;  and 
accordingly,  though  we  caress  dogs,  we  borrow  from 
them  an  appellation  of  the  most  despicable  kind,  when 
we  employ  terms  of  reproach  ;  and  this  appellation  is 
the  common  mark  of  the  last  vileness  and  contempt 
in  every  language.  Wolves  have  not  more  strength 
than  several  species  of  dogs  ;  but,  on  account  of  their 
unmanageable  fierceness,  the  idea  of  a  wolf  is  not 
despicable ;  it  is  not  excluded  from  grand  descrip- 
tions and  similitudes.  Thus  we  are  affected  by 
strength,  which  is  natural  power.  The  power  which 
arises  from  institution  in  kings  and  commanders,  has 
the  same  connection  with  terror.  Sovereigns  are  fre- 
quently addressed  with  the  title  of  dread  majesty. 
And  it  may  be  observed,  that  young  persons,  little 
acquainted  with  the  world,  and  who  have  not  been 
used  to  approach  men  in  power,  are  commonly  struck 
with  an  awe  which  takes  away  the  free  use  of  their 
faculties.      When  I  prepared  my  seat   in  the  street. 


142      ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

(says  Job,)  the  young  men  saw  me,  and  hid  themselves. 
Indeed  so  natural  is  this  timidity  with  regard  to 
power,  and  so  strongly  does  it  inhere  in  our  consti- 
tution, that  very  few  are  able  to  conquer  it,  but  by 
mixing  much  in  the  business  of  the  great  world,  or 
by  using  no  small  violence  to  their  natural  disposi- 
tions. I  know  some  people  are  of  opinion,  that  no 
awe,  no  degree  of  terror,  accompanies  the  idea  of 
power ;  and  have  hazarded  to  affirm,  that  we  can 
contemplate  the  idea  of  God  himself  without  any 
such  emotion.  I  purposely  avoided,  when  I  first  con- 
sidered this  subject,  to  introduce  the  idea  of  that 
great  and  tremendous  Being,  as  an  example  in  an 
argument  so  light  as  this ;  though  it  frequently  oc- 
curred to  me,  not  as  an  objection  to,  but  as  a  strong 
confirmation  of,  my  notions  in  this  matter.  I  hope, 
in  what  I  am  going  to  say,  I  shall  avoid  presumption, 
where  it  is  almost  impossible  for  any  mortal  to  speak 
with  strict  propriety.  I  say  then,  that  whilst  we  con-" 
i-ider  the  Godhead  merely  as  he  is  an  object  of  the 
understanding,  which  forms  a  complex  idea  of  power, 
wisdom,  justice,  goodness,  all  stretched  to  a  degree 
far  exceeding  the  bounds  of  our  comprehension, 
whilst  we  consider  the  divinity  in  this  refined  and  ab- 
stracted light,  the  imagination  and  passions  are  little 
or  nothing  alfected.  But  because  we  are  bound,  by' 
the  condition  of  our  nature,  to  ascend  to  these  pure 
and  intellectual  ideas,  througli  the  medium  of  sensi- 
ble images,  and  to  judge  of  these  divine  qualities  by 
their  evident  acts  and  exertions,  it  becomes  extremely 
hard  to  disentangle  our  idea  of  the  cause  from  the 
elTect  by  which  we  are  led  to  know  it.  Thus,  when 
we  contcmphito  the  Dei<y,  his  attril)u<os  and  their 
oi)r!ration,  coining  nnitcil   on  ihc  mind,  foi-in  a  sort  of 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  143 

sensible  image,  and  as  such  are  capable  of  affecting 
the  imagination.  Now,  though  in  a  just  idea  of  the 
Deity,  perhaps  none  of  his  attributes  are  predomi- 
nant, yet,  to  our  imagination,  his  power  is  by  far  the 
most  striking.  Some  reflection,  some  comparing,  is 
necessary  to  satisfy  us  of  his  wisdom,  his  justice,  and 
his  goodness.  To  be  struck  with  his  power,  it  is  only 
necessary  that  we  should  open  our  eyes.  But  whilst 
we  contemplate  so  vast  an  object,  under  the  arm,  as  it 
were,  of  almighty  power,  and  mvested  upon  every 
side  with  omnipresence,  we  shrink  into  the  minute- 
ness of  our  own  nature,  and  are,  in  a  manner,  anni- 
hilated before  him.  And  though  a  consideration  of 
his  other  attributes  may  relieve,  in  some  measure, 
our  apprehensions ;  yet  no  conviction  of  the  justice 
with  which  it  is  exercised,  nor  the  mercy  with  which 
it  is  tempered,  can  wholly  remove  the  terror  that  nat- 
urally arises  from  a  force  which  nothing  can  with- 
stand. If  we  rejoice,  we  rejoice  with  trembling ;  and 
even  whilst  we  are  receiving  benefits,  we  cannot  but 
shudder  at  a  power  which  can  confer  benefits  of  such 
mighty  importance.  When  the  prophet  David  con- 
templated the  wonders  of  wisdom  and  power  which 
are  displayed  in  the  economy  of  man,  he  seems  to  be 
struck  with  a  sort  of  divine  horror,  and  cries  out, 
fearfully  and  wonderfully  am  I  made !  An  heathen 
poet  has  a  sentiment  of  a  similar  nature ;  Horace 
looks  upon  it  as  the  last  effort  of  philosophical  forti- 
tude, to  behold  without  terror  and  amazement,  this 
immense  and  glorious  fabric  of  the  universe : 

Hunc  solem,  et  stqUas,  et  decede^tia  certia 
Tenipora  momentis,  sunt  qui  formidine  nulla 
Inibuti  spectent. 

Lucretius  is  a  poet  not  to  be  suspected  of  giving  way 


144      ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

to  superstitious  terrors ;  yet,  when  he  supposes  the 
whole  mechanism  of  nature  laid  open  by  the  master 
of  his  philosophy,  his  transport  on  this  magnificent 
view,  which  he  has  represented  in  tlie  colors  of  such 
bold  and  lively  poetry,  is  overcast  with  a  shade  of 
secret  dread  and  horror  : 

His  ibi  me  rebus  quasdam  divina  voluptas 
Percipit,  atque  horror;  quod  sic  natura,  tua  vi 
Tam  manifesta  patens,  ex  omni  parte  retecta  est. 

But  the  Scripture  alone  can  supply  ideas  answerable 
to  the  majesty  of  this  subject.  In  the  Scripture, 
wherever  God  is  represented  as  appearing  or  speak- 
ing, everything  terrible  in  nature  is  called  up  to 
heighten  the  awe  and  solemnity  of  the  Divine  pres- 
ence. The  Psalms,  and  the  prophetical  books,  are 
crowded  with  instances  of  this  kind.  Tlie  earth  sJiook, 
(says  the  Psalmist,)  the  heavens  also  dropped  at  the 
presence  qf  the  Lord.  And  what  is  remarkable,  the 
painting  preserves  the  same  character,  not  only  when 
he  is  supposed  descending  to  take  vengeance  upon 
the  wicked,  but  even  when  he  exerts  the  like  pleni- 
tude of  power  in  acts  of  beneficence  to  mankind. 
Tremble^  thou  earth  !  at  the  presence  of  the  Lord  ;  at 
the  presence  qf  the  God  of  Jacob  ;  ivhich  turned  the  rock 
into  standing  water ^  the  flint  into  a  fountain  of  waters  ! 
It  were  endless  to  enumerate  all  the  passages,  both 
in  the  sacred  and  profane  writers,  which  establish  the 
general  sentiment  of  mankind,  concerning  the  insep- 
arable union  of  a  sacred  and  reverential  awe,  with 
our  ideas  of  the  divinity.  Hence  the  common  max- 
im, Primus  in  orbe  deos  fecit  timor.  This  maxim  may 
be,  as  I  believe  it  is,  false  witli  regard  to  the  origin 
of  religion.  The  makin-  of  Ih*;  maxim  saw  how 
inscp;ir;il)I(!    these    ideas    were,    without    considering 


ON    THE   SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL.  14o 

that  the  notion  of  some  great  power  must  be  always 
precedent  to  our  dread  of  it.  But  this  dread  must 
necessarily  follow  the  idea  of  such  a  power,  when  it 
is  once  excited  in  the  mind.  It  is  on  this  principle 
that  true  religion  has,  and  must  have,  so  large  a  mix- 
ture of  salutary  fear ;  and  that  false  religions  have 
generally  nothing  else  but  fear  to  support  them.  Be- 
fore the  Christian  religion  had,  as  it  were,  human- 
ized the  idea  of  the  Divinity,  and  brought  it  somewhat 
nearer  to  us,  there  was  very  little  said  of  the  love  of 
God.  The  followers  of  Plato  have  something  of  it, 
and  only  something ;  the  other  writers  of  pagan 
antiquity,  whether  poets  or  philosophers,  nothing  at 
all.  And  they  who  consider  with  what  infinite  atten- 
tion, by  what  a  disregard  of  every  perishable  object, 
through  what  long  habits  of  piety  and  contemplation 
it  is  that  any  man  is  able  to  attain  an  entire  love  and 
devotion  to  the  Deity,  will  easily  perceive  that  it  is 
not  the  first,  the  most  natural,  and  the  most  striking 
effect  which  proceeds  from  that  idea.  Thus  we  have 
traced  power  through  its  several  gradations  unto  the 
highest  of  all,  where  our  imagination  is  finally  lost ; 
and  we  find  terror,  quite  throughout  the  progress, 
its  inseparable  companion,  and  growing  along  with 
it,  as  far  as  we  can  possibly  trace  them.  Now,  as 
power  is  undoubtedly  a  capital  source  of  the  sublime, 
this  will  point  out  evidently  from  whence  its  energy 
is  derived,  and  to  what  class  of  ideas  we  ought  to 
unite  it. 


VOL.  I.  10 


14:6  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

SECTION    VI. 

PRIVATION. 

All  general  privations  are  great,  because  they  are 
all  terrible  ;  vacuity,  darkness,  solitude,  and  silence. 
With  what  a  fire  of  imagination,  yet  with  what  se- 
verity of  judgment,  has  A^irgil  amassed  all  these  cir- 
cumstances, where  he  knows  that  all  the  images  of 
a  tremendous  dignity  ought  to  be  united  at  the 
mouth  of  hell !  Where,  before  he  unlocks  the  se- 
crets of  the  great  deep,  he  seems  to  be  seized  with  a 
religious  horror,  and  to  retire  astonished  at  the  bold- 
ness of  his  own  design  : 

Dii,  quibiis  iinperiiini  est  aiiimarum,  ymbraeqiie  siVenies / 
Et  Chaos,  et  Phleyethon  !  loca  nocte  silentia  late  1 
Sit  luihi  fas  audita  loqui  !  sit  nuinine  vestro 
Pandere  res  alta  terra  et  caligine  mersas  I 
Ibant  obscuri,  sola  sub  nocte,  per  mnbram, 
Perquc  domos  Ditis  vacuas,  et  inania  rcgna. 

"  Ye  subterraneous  gods  !  wiiose  awful  sway 

The  gliding  ghosts,  and  silent  shades  obey  : 

O  Chaos  hoar !  and  Phlegethon  profound  ! 

Whose  solemn  empire  stretches  wide  around  ; 

Give  me,  ye  great,  tremendous  powers,  to  tell 

Of  scenes  and  wonders  in  the  depth  of  hell; 

Give  me  your  mighty  secrets  to  display 

From  those  black  realms  of  darkness  to  the  day." 

Pitt. 
"Obscure  they  went  through  dreary  sfuides  that  led 

Along  the  ivaste  dominions  of  the  dead." 

Dbtden. 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       147 

SECTION    VI I. 

VASTNESS. 

Greatness  *  of  dimension  is  a  powerful  cause  of 
the  sublime.  This  is  too  evident,  and  the  observa- 
tion too  common,  to  need  any  illustration  ;  it  is  not 
so  common  to  consider  in  what  ways  greatness  of 
dimension,  vastness  of  extent  or  quantity,  has  the 
most  striking  effect.  For,  certainly,  there  are  ways 
and  modes  wherein  the  same  quantity  of  extension 
shall  produce  greater  effects  than  it  is  found  to  do 
in  others.  Extension  is  either  in  length,  height,  or 
depth.  Of  these  the  length  strikes  least ;  a  hundred 
yards  of  even  ground  will  never  work  such  an  effect 
as  a  tower  a  hundred  yards  high,  or  a  rock  or  moun- 
tain of  that  altitude.  I  am  apt  to  imagine,  likewise, 
that  height  is  less  grand  than  depth  ;  and  that  we 
are  more  struck  at  looking  down  from  a  precipice, 
than  looking  up  at  an  object  of  equal  height ;  but  of 
that  I  am  not  very  positive.  A  perpendicular  has 
more  force  in  forming  the  sublime,  than  an  inclined 
plane,  and  the  effects  of  a  rugged  and  broken  surface 
seem  stronger  than  where  it  is  smooth  and  polished. 
It  would  carry  us  out  of  our  way  to  enter  in  this 
place  into  the  cause  of  these  appearances,  but  certain 
it  is  they  afford  a  large  and  fruitful  field  of  specula- 
tion. However,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  add  to  these 
remarks  upon  magnitude,  that  as  the  great  extreme 
of  dimension  is  sublime,  so  the  last  extreme  of  little- 
ness is  in  some  measure  sublime  Vkewise ;  when  we 
attend  to  the  infinite  divisibility  of  matter,  when  we 
pursue  animal  life  into  these  excessively  small,  and 

*  Part  IV.  sect.  9. 


148      ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

yet  organized  beings,  that  escape  the  nicest  inquisi- 
tion of  the  sense  ;  when  we  push  our  discoveries  yet 
downward,  and  consider  those  creatures  so  many  de- 
grees yet  smaller,  and  the  still  diminishmg  scale  of 
existence,  in  tracing  which  the  imagination  is  lost 
as  well  as  the  sense  ;  we  become  amazed  and  con- 
founded at  the  wonders  of  minuteness  ;  nor  can  we 
distinguish  in  its  effect  this  extreme  of  littleness  from 
the  vast  itself.  For  division  must  be  infinite  as  well 
as  addition ;  because  the  idea  of  a  perfect  unity  can 
no  more  be  arrived  at,  than  that  of  a  complete  whole, 
to  which  nothhig  may  be  added. 


SECTION    VII  I. 

INFINITY. 

Another  source  of  the  sublime  is  infinity ;  if  it 
does  not  rather  belong  to  the  last.  Infinity  has  a 
tendency  to  fill  the  mind  with  that  sort  of  delightful 
horror,  which  is  the  most  genuine  effect,  and  truest 
test  of  the  sublime.  Tliere  are  scarce  any  things 
M'hich  can  become  the  objects  of  our  senses,  that  are 
really  and  in  their  own  nature  infinite.  But  the  eye 
not  being  able  to  perceive  the  bounds  of  many  things, 
they  seem  to  be  infinite,  and  they  produce  the  same 
ellects  as  if  they  were  really  so.  We  are  deceived  in 
the  like  manner,  if  the  parts  of  some  large  object  are 
so  continued  to  any  indefinite  number,  that  the  imag- 
ination meets  no  check  which  may  hinder  its  extend- 
ing them  at  pleasure. 

Whenever  we  repeat  any  idea  frequently,  the  mind, 
by  a  sort  of  niechanisni,  rei)cats  it  long  aft(!r  the  first 
cause  has  ceased  to  oj)erate.*     After  whiiling  about 

•  Tun  IV.  sect.  11. 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       14'J 

when  we  sit  down,  the  objects  about  us  still  seem  to 
whirl.  After  a  long  succession  of  noises,  as  the  fall 
of  waters,  or  the  beating  of  forge-hammers,  the  ham- 
mers beat  and  the  waters  roar  in  the  imagination 
long  after  the  first  sounds  have  ceased  to  affect  it ; 
and  they  die  away  at  last  by  gradations  which  are 
scarcely  perceptible.  If  you  hold  up  a  straight  pole, 
with  your  eye  to  one  end,  it  will  seem  extended  to  a 
leno-th  almost  incredible.*  Place  a  number  of  uni- 
form  and  equi-distant  marks  on  this  pole,  they  will 
cause  the  same  deception,  and  seem  multiplied  with- 
out end.  The  senses,  strongly  affected  in  some  one 
manner,  cannot  quickly  change  their  tenor,  or  adapt 
themselves  to  other  things  ;  but  they  continue  in  their 
old  channel  until  the  strength  of  the  first  mover  decays. 
This  is  the  reason  of  an  appearance  very  frequent  in 
madmen ;  that  they  remain  whole  days  and  nights, 
sometimes  whole  years,  in  the  constant  repetition  of 
some  remark,  some  complaint,  or  song ;  which  hav- 
ing struck  powerfully  on  their  disordered  imagination 
in  the  beginning  of  their  frenzy,  every  repetition 
reinforces  it  with  new  strength,  and  the  hurry  of  their 
spirits,  unrestrained  by  the  curb  of  reason,  continues 
it  to  the  end  of  their  lives. 


SECTION    IX. 

SUCCKSSION    AND    UNIFORMITY. 

Succession  and  uniformity  of  parts  are  what  con- 
stitute the  artificial  infinite.  1.  Succession  ;  which  is 
requisite  that  the  parts  may  be  continued  so  long  and 
in  such  a  direction,  as  by  their  frequent  impulses  on 

*  Part  IV.  sect.  13. 


150       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

the  sense  to  impress  the  imagination  with  an  idea  of 
their  progress  beyond  their  actual  limits.  2.  Uni- 
formity;  because,  if  the  figures  of  the  parts  should 
be  changed,  the  imagination  at  every  change  finds  a 
check  ;  you  are  presented  at  every  alteration  with  the 
termination  of  one  idea,  and  the  beginning  of  an- 
other ;  by  which  means  it  becomes  impossible  to  con- 
tinue that  uninterrupted  progression,  which  alone  can 
stamp  on  bounded  objects  the  character  of  infinity. 
It  is  in  this  kind  of  artificial  infinity,  I  believe,  we 
ought  to  look  for  the  cause  why  a  rotund  has  such  a 
noble  effect.*  For  in  a  rotund,  whether  it  be  a  build- 
ing or  a  plantation,  you  can  nowhere  fix  a  boun- 
dary ;  turn  which  way  you  will,  tlie  same  object  still 
seems  to  continue,  and  the  imagination  has  no  rest. 
But  the  parts  must  be  uniform,  as  well  as  circularly 
disposed,  to  give  this  figure  its  full  force  ;  because 
any  difference,  whetlier^it  be  in  the  disposition,  or  in 
the  figure,  or  even  in  the  color  of  the  parts,  is  highly 
prejudicial  to  the  idea  of  infinity,  which  every  change 
must  check  and  interrupt,  at  every  alteration  com- 
mencing a  new  series.  .  On  the  same  principles  of 
succession  and  uniformity,  the  grand  appearance 
of  the  ancient  heathen  temples,  which  were  generally 
oblong  forms,  with  a  range  of  uniform  pillars  on  every 
side,  will  be  easily  accounted  for.  From  the  same 
cause  also  may  be  derived  the  grand  effect  of  the 
aisles  in  many  of  our  own  old  cathedrals.  The  form 
of  a  cross  used  in  some  churches  seems  to  me  not  so 
eligil)le  as  the  parallelogram  of  tlie  ancients  ;  at  least, 
I  imagine  it  is  not,  so  proper  for  the  outside.     For, 

•  Mr.  Addison,  in  tlic  Spcctiitors  concerning;  tlio  i)lca8ure8  of  tho 
imn^nniition,  thinks  it  is  liccnnsc  in  tlie  rotund  nt  oni-.  j^liincc  you  SCO 
half  tl)(!  hiiilding.      '!'hi>;  I  do  not  imagine  to  he  the  rcid  ciinsc. 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  151 

supposing  the  arms  of  the  cross  every  way  equal,  if 
you  stand  in  a  direction  parallel  to  any  of  the  side 
walls,  or  colonnades,  instead  of  a  deception  that 
makes  the  building  more  extended  than  it  is,  you 
are  cut  off  from  a  considerable  part  (two  thirds)  of 
its  actual  length ;  and,  to  prevent  all  possibility  of 
progiession,  the  arms  of  the  cross  taking  a  new  direc- 
tion, make  a  right  angle  with  the  beam,  and  thereby 
wholly  turn  the  imagination  from  the  repetition  of 
the  former  idea.  Or  suppose  the  spectator  placed 
where  he  may  take  a  direct  view  of  such  a  building, 
what  will  be  the  consequence  ?  the  necessary  conse- 
quence will  be,  that  a  good  part  of  the  basis  of  each 
angle  formed  by  the  intersection  of  the  arms  of  the 
cross,  must  be  inevitably  lost ;  the  whole  must  of 
course  assume  a  broken,  unconnected  figure  ;  the 
lights  must  be  unequal,  here  strong,  and  there 
weak ;  without  that  noble  gradation  which  the  per- 
spective always  effects  on  parts  disposed  uninterrupt- 
edly in  a  right  line.  Some  or  all  of  these  objections 
will  lie  against  every  figure  of  a  cross,  in  whatever 
view  you  take  it.  I  exemplified  them  in  the  Greek 
cross,  in  which  these  faults  appear  the  most  strongly  ; 
but  they  appear  in  some  degree  in  all  sorts  of  crosses. 
Indeed,  there  is  nothing  more  prejudicial  to  the 
grandeur  of  buildings  than  to  abound  in  angles ;  a 
fault  obvious  in  many ;  and  owing  to  an  inordinate 
thirst  for  variety,  which,  whenever  it  prevails,  is 
sure  to  leave  very  little  true  taste. 


152       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

SECTION    X. 

MAGNITUDE    IN    BUILDING. 

To  the  sublime  in  building,  greatness  of  dimension 
seems  requisite  ;  for  on  a  few  parts,  and  those  small, 
the  imagination  cannot  rise  to  any  idea  of  infinity. 
No  greatness  in  the  manner  can  effectually  compen- 
sate for  the  want  of  proper  dimensions.  There"  is  no 
danger  of  drawing  men  into  extravagant  designs  by 
this  rule  ;  it  carries  its  own  caution  along  with  it. 
Because  too  great  a  length  in  buildings  destroys  the 
purpose  of  greatness,  which  it  was  intended  to  pro- 
mote ;  the  perspective  will  lessen  it  in  height  as  it 
gains  in  length  ;  and  will  bring  it  at  last  to  a  point ; 
turning  the  whole  figure  into  a  sort  of  triangle,  the 
poorest  in  its  effect  of  almost  any  figure  that  can  be 
presented  to  the  eye.  I  have  ever  observed,  that  col- 
onnades and  avenues  of  trees  of  a  moderate  length 
were,  without  comparison,  far  grander  than  when 
they  were  suffered  to  run  to  immense  distances,  A 
true  artist  should  put  a  generous  deceit  on  the  spec- 
tators, and  effect  the  noblest  designs  by  easy  meth- 
ods. Designs  that  are  vast  only  by  tlieir  dimensions 
are  always  the  sign  of  a  common  and  low  imagina- 
tion. No  work  of  art  can  be  great,  but  as  it  deceives ; 
to  be  otherwise  is  the  prerogative  of  nature  only.  A 
good  eye  will  fix  the  medium  betwixt  an  excessive 
length  or  height  (for  the  same  objection  lies  against 
l)oth),  and  a  short  or  broken  quantity:  and  perhaps 
it  might  1)0  ascertained  to  a  tolerable  degree  of  ex- 
actness, if  it  was  my  pur})()sc  to  descend  Hir  into  the 
particulars  of  any  ;irt. 


ON   THE   SUBLFME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  153 

SECTION   XL 

INFINITY    IN    PLEASING    OBJECTS. 

Infinity,  though  of  another  kind,  causes  much  of 
our  pleasure  in  agreeable,  as  well  as  of  our  delight  in 
sublime  images.  The  spring  is  the  pleasantest  of  the 
seasons  ;  and  the  young  of  most  animals,  though  far 
from  being  completely  fashioned,  afford  a  more  agree- 
able sensation  than  the  full-grown  ;  because  the  imagi- 
nation is  entertained  with  the  promise  of  something 
more,  and  does  not  acquiesce  in  the  present  object  of 
the  sense.  In  unfinished  sketches  of  drawing,  I  have 
often  seen  something  which  pleased  me  beyond  the 
best  finishing  ;  and  this  I  believe  proceeds  from  the 
cause  I  have  just  now  assigned. 

SECTION    XII. 

DIFFICULTY. 

Another  source  of  greatness  is  difficulty  *  Wlien 
any  work  seems  to  have  required  immense  force  and 
labor  to  effect  it,  the  idea  is  grand.  Stonehenge, 
neither  for  disposition  nor  ornament,  has  anything 
admirable ;  but  those  huge  rude  masses  of  stone,  set 
on  end,  and  piled  each  on  other,  turn  the  mind  on 
the  immense  force  necessary  for  such  a  work.  Nay, 
the  rudeness  of  the  work  increases  this  cause  of 
grandeur,  as  it  excludes  tlie  idea  of  art  and  contriv- 
ance ;  for  dexterity  produces  another  sort  of  effect, 
which  is  different  enough  from  this. 

»  Part  IV.  sect.  4,  5,  6. 


154  ON  THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

SECTION    XIII. 

MAGNIFICENCE. 

Magnificence  is  likewise  a  source  of  the  sublime. 
A  great  profusion  of  things,  which  are  splendid  or 
valuable  in  themselves,  is  magnificent.  The  starry 
heaven,  though  it  occurs  so  very  frequently  to  our 
view  never  fails  to  excite  an  idea  of  grandeur.  This 
cannot  be  owing  to  the  stars  themselves,  separately 
considered.  The  number  is  certainly  the  cause.  The 
apparent  disorder  augments  the  grandeur,  for  the  ap- 
pearance of  care  is  highly  contrary  to  our  ideas  of 
magnificence.  Besides,  the  stars  lie  in  such  appar- 
ent confusion,  as  makes  it  impossible  on  ordinary  oc- 
casions to  reckon  them.  This  gives  them  the  advan- 
tage of  a  sort  of  infinity.  In  works  of  art,  this  kind 
of  grandeur  which  consists  in  multitude,  is  to  be  very 
cautiously  admitted ;  because  a  profusion  of  excel- 
lent things  is  not  to  be  attained,  or  with  too  much 
difficulty;  and  because  in  many  cases  this  s])lendid 
confusion  would  destroy  all  use,  which  should  be  at- 
tended to  in  most  of  the  works  of  art  with  the  greatest 
care ;  besides,  it  is  to  be  considered,  that  unless  you 
can  produce  an  appearance  of  infinity  by  your  disor- 
der, you  will  have  disorder  only  without  magnificence. 
There  are,  however,  a  sort  of  fireworks,  and  some 
other  tilings,  that  in  this  way  succeed  well,  and  are 
truly  grand.  There  arc  also  many  descriptions  hi 
the  poets  and  orators,  which  owe  their  sublimity  to  a 
richness  and  profusion  of  images,  in  which  the  mind 
is  80  daz/lcd  as  to  make  it  impossible  to  attend  to 
that  exact  coherence  and  agreement  of  the  allusions, 
which  we  should  require  on  every  other  occasion.     I 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  155 

do  not  now  remember  a  more  striking  example  of 
this,  than  the  description  which  is  given  of  the  king's 
army  in  the  play  of  Henry  IV. :  — 

"  All  furnished,  all  in  arms, 
All  plumed  like  ostriches  that  with  the  wind 
Baited  like  eagles  having  lately  bathed  : 
As  full  of  spirit  as  the  month  of  May, 
And  gorgeous  as  the  sun  in  midsummer, 
Wanton  as  youthful  goats,  wild  as  young  bulls. 
I  saw  young  Harry  with  his  beaver  on 
Rise  from  the  ground  like  feathered  Mercury ; 
And  vaulted  with  such  ease  into  his  seat. 
As  if  an  angel  dropped  down  from  the  clouds 
To  turn  and  wind  a  fiery  Pegasus." 

In  that  excellent  book,  so  remarkable  for  the  vi- 
vacity of  its  descriptions,  as  well  as  the  solidity  and 
penetration  of  its  sentences,  the  Wisdom  of  the  Son 
of  Sirach,  there  is  a  noble  panegyric  on  the  high- 
priest  Simon  the  son  of  Onias ;  and  it  is  a  very  fine 
example  of  the  point  before  us :  — 

Mow  was  he  honored  in  the  midst  of  the  people,  in  his 
coming  out  of  the  sanctuary  !  He  was  as  the  morning 
star  in  the  midst  of  a  cloud,  and  as  the  moon  at  the 
full;  as  the  sun  shining  upon  the  temple  of  the  3Iost 
High,  and  as  the  rainbow  giving  light  in  the  bright 
clouds :  and  as  the  flower  of  roses  in  the  spring  of  the 
year,  as  lilies  by  the  rivers  of  waters,  and  as  the  frank- 
incense-tree in  summer ;  as  fire  and  incense  in  the  cen- 
ser, and  as  a  vessel  of  gold  set  with  precious  stones  ;  as 
a  fair  olive-tree  budding  forth  fruit,  and  as  a  cypress 
which  groiveth  up  to  the  clouds.  When  he  put  on  the 
robe  of  honor,  and  ivas  clothed  with  the  perfection  of 
glory,  when  he  went  up  to  the  holy  altar,  he  made  the 
garment  of  holiness  honorable.  He  himself  stood  by  the 
hearth  of  the  altar,  cornpassed  with  his  brethren  round 


156  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

ahout ;  as  a  young  cedar  in  Lihanus,  and  as  palm-trees 
compassed  they  him  about.  So  were  all  the  sons  of 
Aaron  in  their  glory,  and  the  oblations  of  the  Lord  in 
their  hands^  ^c. 


SECTION    XIV. 

LIGHT. 

Having  considered  extension,  so  far  as  it  is  capable 
of  raising  ideas  of  greatness ;  color  comes  next  under 
consideration.  All  colors  depend  on  light.  Light 
therefore  ought  previously  to  be  examined  ;  and  with 
it  its  opposite,  darkness.  With  regard  to  light,  to 
make  it  a  cause  capable  of  producing  the  sublime,  it 
must  be  attended  with  some  circumstances,  besides 
its  bare  faculty  of  showing  other  objects.  Mere  light 
is  too  common  a  thing  to  make  a  strong  impression 
on  the  mind,  and  without  a  strong  impression  noth- 
ing can  be  sublime.  But  such  a  light  as  that  of  th« 
sun,  immediately  exerted  on  the  eye,  as  it  overpowers 
the  sense,  is  a  very  great  idea.  Light  of  an  inferior 
strength  to  this,  if  it  moves  with  great  celerity,  lias 
the  same  power  ;  for  lightning  is  certainly  productive 
of  grandeur,  which  it  owes  chiefly  to  the  extreme  ve- 
locity of  its  motion.  A  quick  transition  from  liglit  to 
darkness,  or  from  darkness  to  light,  has  yet  a  greater 
elTcct.  But  darkness  is  more  productive  of  sublime 
ideas  tlian  light.  Our  great  poet  was  convinced  o-f 
this;  and  indeed  so  full  was  he  of  this  idea,  so  en- 
tirely possessed  with  the  jjower  of  a  well-managed 
darkness,  tliat  in  dcscril)iiig  tiie  appearance  of  the 
Deity,  amidst  that  jirofusioii  of  lua.giiincent  images, 
which  the  grandeur  of  liis  Milijcct  jtrovokes  him  to 


ON   THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL.  157 

pour  out  upon  every  side,  he  is  far  from  forgetting  the 
obscurity  which  surrounds  the  most  incomprehensible 
of  all  beings,  but 

"  With  majesty  of  darkness  round 
Circles  his  throne." 

And  what  is  no  less  remarkable,  our  author  had  the 
secret  of  preserving  this  idea,  even  when  he  seemed 
to  depart  the  farthest  from  it,  wlien  he  describes  the 
light  and  glory  which  flows  from  the  Divine  presence  ; 
a  light  which  by  its  very  excess  is  converted  into  a 
species  of  darkness :  — 

'•  Dark  with  excessive  light  thy  skirts  appear." 

Here  is  an  idea  not  only  poetical  in  a  high  degree, 
but  strictly  and  philosophically  just.  Extreme  light, 
by  overcoming  tlie  organs  of  sight,  obliterates  all  ob- 
jects, so  as  in  its  effect  exactly  to  resemble  darkness. 
After  looking  for  some  time  at  the  sun,  two  black 
spots,  the  impression  which  it  leaves,  seem  to  dance 
before  our  eyes.  Thus  are  two  ideas  as  opposite  as 
can  be  imagined  reconciled  in  the  extremes  of  both ; 
and  both,  in  spite  of  their  opposite  nature,  brought  to 
concur  in  producing  the  sublime.  And  this  is  not 
the  only  instance  wherein  the  opposite  extremes  oper- 
ate equally  in  favor  of  the  sublime,  which  in  all 
things  abhors  mediocrity. 


SECTION    XV. 

LIGHT  IN  BUILDING. 

As  the  management  of  light  is  a  matter  of  impor- 
tance in  architecture,  it  is  worth  inquiring,  how  far 
this  remark  is  applicable  to  building.     I  think,  then, 


158  ON    THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

that  all  edifices  calculated  to  produce  an  idea  of  the 
sublime,  ought  rather  to  be  dark  and  gloomy,  and 
this  for  two  reasons  ;  the  first  is,  that  darkness  itself 
on  other  occasions  is  known  by  experience  to  have  a 
greater  effect  on  the  passions  than  light.  The  second 
is,  that  to  make  an  object  very  striking,  we  should 
make  it  as  different  as  possible  from  the  objects  with 
which  we  have  been  immediately  conversant ;  when 
therefore  you  enter  a  building,  you  cannot  pass  into 
a  greater  light  than  you  had  in  the  open  air ;  to  go 
into  one  some  few  degrees  less  luminous,  can  make 
only  a  trifling  change  ;  but  to  make  the  transition 
thoroughly  striking,  you  ought  to  pass  from  the  great- 
est light,  to  as  much  darkness  as  is  consistent  with 
the  uses  of  architecture.  At  night  the  contrary  rule 
will  hold,  but  for  the  very  same  reason;  and  the  more 
highly  a  room  is  then  illuminated,  the  grander  will 
the  passion  be. 


SECTION    XVI. 

COLOU  CONSIDERKD  AS  PRODUCTIVE  OF  THE  SUBLIME. 

Among  colors,  such  as  are  soft  or  cheerful  (except 
perhaps  a  strong  red,  which  is  cheerful)  are  unfit  to 
produce  grand  images.  An  immense  mountain  cov- 
ered with  a  sliining  green  turf,  is  nothing,  in  this 
respect,  to  one  dark  and  gloomy  ;  the  cloudy  sky  is 
more  grand  than  the  l)luc  ;  and  night  more  sublime 
and  solemn  than  day.  Therefore  in  historical  paint- 
ing, a  gay  or  gaudy  drapery  can  never  have  a  happy 
cfl'ect :  and  in  l)nil(lings,  when  the  highest  degree  of 
the  sul)lime  is  intendcjd,  the  materials  and  ornaments 
ought  neither  to  l)e  white,  nor  green,  nor  yellow,  nor 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL.  159 

blue,  nor  of  a  pale  red,  nor  violet,  nor  spotted,  but  of 
sad  and  fuscous  colors,  as  black,  or  brown,  or  deep 
purple,  and  the  like.  Much  of  gildhig,  mosaics,  paint- 
ing, or  statues,  contribute  but  little  to  the  sublime. 
This  rule  need  not  be  put  in  practice,  except  where 
an  uniform  degree  of  the  most  striking  sublimity  is 
to  be  produced,  and  that  in  every  particular  ;  for  it 
ought  to  be  observed,  that  this  melancholy  kind  of 
greatness,  though  it  be  certainly  the  highest,  ought 
not  to  be  studied  in  all  sorts  of  edifices,  where  yet 
grandeur  must  be  studied  ;  in  such  cases  the  sublim- 
ity must  be  drawn  from  the  other  sources  ;  with  a 
strict  caution  however  against  anything  light  and  ri- 
ant ;  as  nothing  so  effectually  deadens  the  whole  taste 
of  the  sublime. 


SECTION    XVII. 

SOUND  AND  LOUDNESS. 

The  eye  is  not  the  only  organ  of  sensation  by  which 
a  sublime  passion  may  be  produced.  Sounds  have  a 
great  power  in  these  as  in  most  other  passions.  I  do 
not  mean  words,  because  words  do  not  affect  simply 
by  their  sounds,  but  by  means  altogether  different. 
Excessive  loudness  alone  is  sufficient  to  overpower  the 
soul,  to  suspend  its  action,  and  to  fill  it  with  terror. 
The  noise  of  vast  cataracts,  raging  storms,  thunder, 
or  artillery,  awakes  a  great  and  awful  sensation  in  the 
mind,  though  we  can  observe  no  nicety  or  artifice 
in  those  sorts  of  music.  The  shouting  of  multitudes 
has  a  similar  effect ;  and  by  the  sole  strength  of 
the  sound,  so  amazes  and  confounds  the  imagina- 
tion, that,  in  this  staggering  and  hurry  of  the  mind, 


160      ON  THE  SUBLBIE  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

the  best  established  tempers  can  scarcely  forbear  be- 
ing borne  down,  and  joining  in  the  common  cry,  and 
common  resolution  of  the  crowd. 


SECTION    XVII  I. 

SUDDENNESS. 

A  SUDDEN  beginning,  or  sudden  cessation  of  sound 
of  any  considerable  force,  has  the  same  power.  The 
attention  is  roused  by  this ;  and  the  faculties  driven 
forward,  as  it  were,  on  their  guard.  Whatever,  either 
in  sights  or  sounds,  makes  the  transition  from  one 
extreme  to  the  other  easy,  causes  no  terror,  and  con- 
sequently can  be  no  cause  of  greatness.  In  every- 
thing sudden  and  unexpected,  we  are  apt  to  start ; 
that  is,  we  have  a  perception  of  danger,  and  our  na- 
ture rouses  us  to  guard  against  it.  It  may  be  ob- 
served that  a  single  sound  of  some  strength,  though 
but  of  short  duration,  if  repeated  after  intervals,  lias 
a  grand  effect.  Few  things  are  more  awful  tlian  the 
striking  of  a  great  clock,  when  the  silence  of  the 
night  prevents  the  attention  from  being  too  much 
dissipated.  The  same  may  be  said  of  a  single  stroke 
on  a  drum,  repeated  with  pauses  ;  and  of  the  succes- 
sive firing  of  cannon  at  a  distance.  All  the  effects 
mentioned  in  this  section  have  causes  very  nearly 
alike. 

SECTION    XIX. 

INTKRMITTING. 

A  LOW,  tremulous,  intennitting  sound,  tliough  It 
seems,  in  some  respects,  opposite  to  that  just  men- 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  16  L 

tioned,  is  productive  of  the  siil)lime.  It  is  worth 
while  to  examine  this  a  little.  The  fact  itself  must 
be  determined  by  every  man's  own  experience  and 
reflection.  I  have  already  observed,  that  night* 
increases  our  terror,  more  perhaps  than  anything 
else  ;  it  is  our  nature,  when  we  do  not  know  what 
may  happen  to  us,  to  fear  the  worst  that  can  hap- 
pen ;  and  hence  it  is  that  uncertainty  is  so  terrible, 
that  we  often  seek  to  be  rid  of  it,  at  the  hazard  of  a 
certain  mischief.  Now  some  low,  confused,  uncer- 
tain sounds,  leave  us  in  the  same  fearful  anxiety  con- 
cerning their  causes,  that  no  light,  or  an  uncertam 
light,  does  concerning  the  objects  that  surround  us. 

Quale  per  inccrtam  lunam  sub  luce  maligna 
Est  iter  in  sylvis. 

"A  faint  shadow  of  uncei'tain  light, 
Like  as  a  lamp,  whose  life  doth  fade  away ; 
Or  as  the  moon  clothed  with  cloudy  night 
Doth  show  to  him  who  walks  in  fear  and  great  affright." 

Spenser. 

But  light  now  appearing,  and  now  leaving  us,  and  so 
off  and  on,  is  even  more  terrible  than  total  darkness ; 
and  a  sort,  of  uncertain  sounds  are,  when  the  neces- 
sary dispositions  concur,  more  alarming  than  a  total 
silence. 

SECTION   XX. 

THE    CRIES    OF   ANIMALS. 

Such  sounds  as  imitate  the  natural  inarticulate 
voices  of  men,  or  any  animals  in  pain  or  danger,  are 
capable  of  conveying  great  ideas ;  unless  it  be  the 
well-known  voice  of  some  creature,  on  which  we  are 
used  to  look  with  contempt.     The  angry  tones  of  wild 

*  Sect.  3. 

VOL.  I.  11 


162      ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

beasts  are  equally  capable  of  causing  a  great  and 
awful  sensation. 

Hinc  exaudiri  gemitus,  iraeqnc  leonum 
Vincla  recusantum,  et  sera  sub  nocte  rudentum  ; 
Setigerique  sues.,  atque  in  praesepibus  ursi 
Saevire  ;  etformae  msMjnorum  uliilare  luporum. 

It  might  seem  that  these  modulations  of  sound  carry 
some  connection  with  the  nature  of  the  things  they 
represent,  and  are  not  merely  arbitrary  ;  because  the 
natural  cries  of  all  animals,  even  of  those  animals 
with  whom  we  have  not  been  acquainted,  never  fail 
to  make  themselves  sufficiently  understood  ;  this  can- 
not be  said  of  language.  The  modifications  of  sound, 
which  may  be  productive  of  the  sublime,  are  ahnost 
infinite.  Those  I  have  mentioned  are  only  a  few 
instances  to  show  on  what  principles  they  are  all 
built. 

SECTION    XXI. 

SMELL    AND    TASTK. BfTTERS    AND    STENCHES. 

Smells  and  tastes  have  some  share  too.  in  ideas  of 
greatness ;  but  it  is  a  small  one,  weak  in  its  nature, 
and  confined  in  its  operations.  I  shall  only  ob- 
serve that  no  smells  or  tastes  can  produce  a  grand 
sensation,  except  excessive  bitters,  and  intolerable 
stenches.  It  is  true  that  tlicse  affections  of  the 
smell  and  taste,  when  they  are  in  their  lull  force,  and 
lean  directly  upon  the  sensory,  are  simply  painful, 
and  accompanied  with  no  sort  of  delight ;  \nil  when 
they  are  moderated,  as  in  a  description  or  narrative, 
they  l)ecome  sources  of  the  sublime,  as  genuine  as  any 
other,  and  u[)on  the  very  same  princijjle  of  a  moder- 
ated pain.    '•  A  cup  of  bilieiMiess  "  ;  "  to  drain  the  bit- 


ON  THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  163 

ter  cup  of  fortiino  "  ;  "  the  bitter  apples  of  Sodom  "  ; 
these  are  all  ideas  suitable  to  a  su])lime  description. 
Nor  is  this  passage  of  Virgil  without  sublimity,  whero 
the  stench  of  the  vapor  in  Albunea  conspires  so  hap- 
pily with  the  sacred  horror  and  gloominess  of  that 
prophetic  forest : 

At  rex  sollicitus  monstris  oracula  Fauni 
Fatidici  genitoris  adit,  lucosque  sub  alta 
Consnlit  Albunea,  nemorum  quae  maxima  sacro 
Fontc  sonat ;  scevamque  exhaled  opaca  Mephitim. 

In  the  sixth  book,  and  in  a  very  sublime  description, 
the  poisonous  exhalation  of  Acheron  is  not  forgot- 
ten, nor  does  it  at  all  disagree  with  the  other  images 
amongst  which  it  is  introduced  : 

Spclunca  alta  fuit,  vastoque  immanis  hiatu 
Scrupea,  tuta  lacu  nigro,  nemorumquo  tenetm; 
Quam  super  baud  ullae  poterant  impune  volantes 
Tendere  iter  pennis  :  talis  sese  halitus  atris 
Faucibus  effundens  siipera  ad  convexa  ferebat. 

I  have  added  these  examples,  because  some  friends, 
for  whose  judgment  I  have  great  deference,  were  of 
opinion  that  if  the  sentiment  stood  nakedly  by  itself, 
it  would  be  subject,  at  first  view,  to  burlesque  and 
ridicule ;  but  this  I  imagine  would  principally  arise 
from  considering  the  bitterness  and  stench  in  com- 
pany with  mean  and  contemptible  ideas,  with  which  it 
must  be  owned  they  are  often  united  ;  such  an  union 
degrades  the  sublime  in  all  other  instances  as  well  as 
in  those.  But  it  is  one  of  the  tests  by  which  the  sub- 
limity of  an  image  is  to  be  tried,  not  whether  it  be- 
comes mean  when  associated  with  mean  ideas  ;  but 
whether,  when  united  with  images  of  an  allowed 
grandeur,  the  whole  composition  is  supported  with 
dignity.     Things  which  are  terrible  are  always  great : 


164       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

but  when  things  possess  disagreeable  qualities,  or 
such  as  have  indeed  some  degree  of  danger,  but  of  a 
danger  easily  overcome,  they  are  merely  odious;  as 
toads  and  spiders. 


SECTION   XXII. 

FEELING. PAIN. 

Of  feeling  little  more  can  be  said  than  that  the  idea 
of  bodily  pain,  in  all  the  modes  and  degrees  of  labor, 
pain,  anguish,  torment,  is  productive  of  the  sublime ; 
and  nothing  else  in  this  sense  can  produce  it.  I  need 
not  give  here  any  fresh  instances,  as  those  given  in 
the  former  sections  abundantly  illustrate  a  remark 
that,  in  reality,  wants  only  an  attention  to  nature, 
to  be  made  by  everybody. 

Having  thus  run  through  the  causes  of  the  sublime 
with  reference  to  all  the  senses,  my  first  observation 
(Sect.  7)  will  be  found  very  nearly  true ;  that  the 
sublime  is  an  idea  belonging  to  self-preservation ; 
that  it  is,  therefore,  one  of  the  most  affecting  wo 
have ;  that  its  strongest  emotion  is  an  emotion  of  dis- 
tress ;  and  that  no  pleasure  *  from  a  positive  cause 
belongs  to  it.  Numberless  examples,  besides  those 
mentioned,  might  be  brought  in  support  of  these 
truths,  and  many  perhaps  useful  consequences  drawn 
from  them  — 

Sed  fugit  interea,  fugit  irrevocabile  tempus. 
Singula  dum  capti  circunivcctainur  amore. 

•  Viilc  Part  I.  sect  6. 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL.  165 


PART  III. 
SECTION    I. 

OP    BEAUTY. 

It  is  my  design  to  consider  beauty  as  distinguished 
from  the  sublime ;  and,  in  the  course  of  the  inquiry, 
to  examine  how  far  it  is  consistent  with  it.  But  pre- 
vious to  this,  we  must  take  a  short  review  of  the  opin- 
ions ah'eady  entertained  of  tliis  quality ;  which  I 
think  are  hardly  to  be  reduced  to  any  fixed  princi- 
ples ;  because  men  are  used  to  talk  of  beauty  in  a 
figurative  manner,  tliat  is  to  say,  in  a  manner  ex- 
tremely uncertain,  and  indeterminate.  By  beauty,  I 
mean  that  quality,  or  those  qualities  in  bodies,  by 
which  they  cause  love,  or  some  passion  similar  to  it. 
I  confine  this  definition  to  the  merely  sensible  quali- 
ties of  things,  for  the  sake  of  preserving  the  utmost 
simplicity  in  a  subject,  which  must  always  distract  us 
whenever  we  take  in  those  various  causes  of  sympa- 
thy wliich  attach  us  to  any  persons  or  things  from 
secondary  considerations,  and  not  from  the  direct 
force  whicli  they  have  merely  on  being  viewed.  I 
likewise  distinguish  love,  (by  which  I  mean  that  sat- 
isfaction which  arises  to  the  mind  upon  contemplating 
any  tiling  beautiful,  of  whatsoever  nature  it  may  be,) 
from  desire  or  lust ;  which  is  an  energy  of  the  mind, 
that  hurries  us  on  to  the  possession  of  certain  objects, 
that  do  not  affect  us  as  they  are  beautiful,  but  by 
means  altogether  different.  We  shall  have  a  strong 
desire  for  a  woman  of  no  remarkable  beauty ;  whilst 
the   greatest  beauty   in   men,  or   in  other   animals, 


166  ON    THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

though  it  causes  love,  yet  excites  nothing  at  all  of 
desire.  Which  shows  that  beauty,  and  the  passion 
caused  by  beauty,  -which  I  call  love,  is  different  from 
desire,  though  desire  may  sometimes  operate  along 
with  it ;  but  it  is  to  this  latter  that  we  must  attribute 
those  violent  and  tempestuous  passions,  and  the  con- 
sequent emotions  of  the  body  which  attend  what  is 
called  love  in  some  of  its  ordinary  acceptations,  and 
not  to  the  effects  of  beauty  merely  as  it  is  such. 


SECTION    II. 

['ROPORTION   NOT   THE  CAUSE  OF  BEAUTY  IN  VEGETABLES. 

Beauty  hath  usually  been  said  to  consist  in  certain 
proportions  of  parts.  On  considering  the  matter,  I 
have  great  reason  to  doubt,  whether  beauty  be  at  all 
ail  idea  belonging  to  proportion.  Proportion  relates 
ahno^t  wholly  to  convenience,  as  every  idea  of  order 
seems  to  do  ;  and  it  must  therefore  be  considered  as 
a  creature  of  tl rj  understanding,  rather  than  a  pri- 
mary cause  acting  on  the  senses  and  imagination.  It 
is  nut  by  the  force  of  long  attention  and  inquiry  that 
wc  find  any  object  to  be  beautiful ;  beauty  demands 
no  assistance  from  our  reasoning ;  even  the  will  is 
unconcerned  ;  the  appearance  of  beauty  as  effectually 
causes  some  degree  of  love  in  us,  as  the  application 
of  ice  or  fire  produces  the  ideas  of  heat  or  cold.  To 
gain  something  like  a  satisfiictory  conclusion  in  this 
point,  it  were  well  to  examine  what  proportion  is ; 
since  several  who  make  use  of  that  word  do  not 
always  seem  to  understand  very  clearly  the  force  of 
the  term,  nor  to  have  very  distinct  ideas  concerning 
the  thing  itself.     Proportion  is  the  measure  of  rebir 


ON    THE    SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL.  167 

tive  quantity.  Since  all  quantity  is  divisible,  it  is 
evident  that  every  distinct  part  into  which  any  quan- 
tity is  divided  must  bear  some  relation  to  the  othci* 
parts,  or  to  the  whole.  These  relations  give  an  origin 
to  the  idea  of  proportion.  They  are  discovered  by 
mensuration,  and  they  are  the  objects  of  mathemati- 
cal inquiry.  But  whether  any  part  of  any  determi- 
nate quantity  be  a  fourth,  or  a  fifth,  or  a  sixth,  or  a 
moiety  of  the  whole  ;  or  whether  it  be  of  equal  length 
with  any  other  part,  or  double  its  length,  or  but  one 
half,  is  a  matter  merely  indifferent  to  the  mind  ;  it 
stands  neuter  in  the  question  :  and  it  is  from  this 
absolute  indifference  and  tranquillity  of  the  mind, 
that  mathematical  speculations  derive  some  of  their 
most  considerable  advantages  ;  because  there  is  noth- 
ing to  interest  the  imagination ;  because  the  judg- 
ment sits  free  and  unbiassed  to  examine  the  point. 
All  proportions,  every  arrangement  of  quantity,  is 
alike  to  the  understanding,  because  the  same  truths 
result  to  it  from  all ;  from  greater,  from  lesser,  from 
equality  and  inequality.  But  surely  beauty  is  no 
idea  belonging  to  mensuration ;  nor  has  it  anything 
to  do  with  calculation  and  geometry.  If  it  had,  we 
might  then  point  out  some  certain  measures  which 
we  could  demonstrate  to  be  beautiful,  cither  as  simply 
considered,  or  as  related  to  others  ;  and  we  could 
call  in  those  natural  objects,  for  whose  beauty  we 
have  no  voucher  but  the  sense,  to  this  happy  stand- 
ard, and  confirm  the  voice  of  our  passions  by  the 
determination  of  our  reason.  But  since  we  have  not 
this  help,  let  us  see  whether  proportion  can  in  any 
sense  be  considered  as  the  cause  of  beauty,  as  hath 
been  so  generally,  and,  by  some,  so  confidently  af- 
firmed.    If  proportion  be  one  of  the  constituents  of 


168       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

beauty,  it  must  derive  that  power  either  from  some 
natural  properties  inherent  in  certain  measures, 
which  operate  mechanically ;  from  the  operation  of 
custom ;  or  from  the  fitness  which  some  measures 
have  to  answer  some  particular  ends  of  conveniency. 
Our  business  therefore  is  to  inquire,  whether  the 
parts  of  those  objects,  which  are  found  beautiful  in 
tlie  vegetable  or  animal  kingdoms,  are  constantly  so 
formed  according  to  such  certain  measures,  as  may 
serve  to  satisfy  us  that  their  beauty  results  from  those 
measures,  on  the  principle  of  a  natural  mechanical 
cause  ;  or  from  custom  ;  or,  in  fine,  from  their  fitness 
for  any  determinate  purposes.  I  intend  to  examine 
tliis  point  under  each  of  these  heads  in  their  order. 
But  before  I  proceed  further,  I  hope  it  will  not  be 
thought  amiss,  if  I  lay  down  the  rules  whicli  governed 
me  in  this  inquiry,  and  which  have  misled  me  in  it, 
if  I  have  gone  astray.  1.  If  two  bodies  produce  the 
same  or  a  similar  effect  on  the  mind,  and  on  exami- 
nation they  are  found  to  agree  in  some  of  their  prop- 
erties, and  to  differ  in  others ;  the  common  effect  is . 
to  be  attributed  to  the  properties  in  which  they  agree, 
and  not  to  those  in  which  they  differ.  2.  Not  to  ac- 
count for  the  effect  of  a  natural  object  from  the  effect 
of  an  artificial  o1)jcct.  3.  Not  to  account  for  the 
effect  of  any  natural  object  from  a  conclusion  of  our 
reason  concerning  its  uses,  if  a  natural  cause  may  be 
assigned.  4.  Not  to  admit  any  determinate  quantity, 
or  any  relation  of  quantity,  as  the  cause  of  a  certain 
effect,  if  the  effect  is  produced  by  different  or  opposite 
measures  and  rehitions ;  or  if  these  mcasnr(;s  and 
relations  may  exist,  and  yet  the  effect  may  not  be  pro 
duccd.  'J'hcse  arc  the  rnles  which  I  have  chiefly  fol- 
lowed, whilst  1  examined  into  the  power  of  jUDportion 


ON    THE    SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL.  169 

considered  as  a  natural  cause  ;  and  these,  if  he  thinks 
them  just,  I  request  the  reader  to  carry  with  him 
throughout  the  following  discussion ;  whilst  we  in- 
quire, in  the  first  place,  in  what  things  we  find  this 
quality  (  f  beauty ;  next,  to  see  whether  in  these  we 
can  find  any  assignable  proportions  in  such  a  manner 
as  ought  to  convince  us  that  our  idea  of  beauty  re- 
sults from  them.  We  shall  consider  this  pleasing 
power  as  it  appears  in  vegetables,  in  the  inferior  ani- 
mals, and  in  man.  Turning  our  eyes  to  the  vegeta- 
ble creation,  we  find  nothing  there  so  beautiful  as 
flowers;  but  flowers  are  almost  of  every  sort  of 
shape,  and  of  every  sort  of  disposition ;  they  are 
turned  and  fashioned  into  an  infinite  variety  of 
forms  ;  and  from  these  forms  botanists  have  given 
them  their  names,  which  are  almost  as  various. 
What  proportion  do  we  discover  between  the  stalks 
and  the  leaves  of  flowers,  or  between  the  leaves  and 
the  pistils  ?  How  does  the  slender  stalk  of  the  rose 
agree  with  the  bulky  head  under  which  it  bends  ?  but 
the  rose  is  a  beautiful  flower  ;  and  can  we  undertake 
to  say  that  it  docs  not  owe  a  great  deal  of  its  beauty 
even  to  that  disproportion  ;  the  rose  is  a  large  flower, 
yet  it  grows  upon  a  small  shrub ;  the  flower  of  the 
apple  is  very  small,  and  grows  upon  a  large  tree  ;  yet 
the. rose  and  the  apple  blossom  are  both  beautiful, 
and  the  plants  that  bear  them  are  most  engagingly 
attired,  notwithstanding  this  disproportion.  What 
by  general  consent  is  allowed  to  be  a  more  beautiful 
object  than  an  orange-tree,  flourishing  at  once  with 
its  leaves,  its  blossoms,  and  its  fruit?  but  it  is  in  vain 
that  we  search  here  for  any  proportion  between  the 
height,  the  breadtli,  or  anything  else  concerning  the 
dimensions  of  the  whole,  or  concerning  the  relation 


170       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

of  the  particular  parts  to  each  other.  I  grant  that 
we  may  observe  in  many  flowers  something  of  a  reg- 
ular figure,  and  of  a  methodical  disposition  of  the 
leaves.  The  rose  has  such  a  figure  and  such  a  dispo- 
sition of  its  petals ;  but  in  an  oblique  view,  when  this 
figure  is  in  a  good  measure  lost,  and  the  order  of  the 
leaves  confounded,  it  yet  retains  its  beauty  ;  the  rose 
is  even  more  beautiful  before  it  is  full  blown  ;  in  the 
bud  ;  before  this  exact  figure  is  formed  ;  and  this  is 
not  the  only  instance  wherein  method  and  exactness, 
the  soul  of  proportion,  are  found  rather  prejudicial 
than  serviceable  to  the  cause  of  beauty. 


SECTION    III. 

PROPORTION   NOT  THE    CAUSE    OF   BEAUTY   IN   ANIMALS. 

That  proportion  has  but  a  small  share  in  the  for- 
mation of  beauty  is  full  as  evident  among  animals. 
Here  the  greatest  variety  of  shapes  and  dispositions 
of  parts  are  well  fitted  to  excite  this  idea.  The 
swan,  confessedly  a  beautiful  bird,  has  a  neck  longer 
than  the  rest  of  his  body,  and  but  a  very  short  tail : 
is  this  a  beautiful  proportion  ?  We  must  allow  that 
it  is.  But  then  wliat  shall  we  say  to  the  peacock, 
who  has  comparatively  but  a  short  neck,  with  a  tail 
longer  than  the  neck  and  the  rest  of  the  body  taken 
together  ?  How  many  birds  are  there  that  vary  infi- 
nitely from  each  of  tlicse  standards,  and  from  every 
other  which  you  can  fix  ;  with  proportions  dillbrent, 
and  ofti;n  dii'tsctly  opposite  to  eacli  other!  and  yet 
many  of  these  birds  are  extremely  beautiful  ;  wlien 
upon  consi(h;ring  tlicm  we  find  nothing  in  any  one 
]);nt  that  might  determine  \is,  a  2>/-w;-/,  to  say  wliat 


ON   THE   SUBLIME    AND   BEAUTIFUL.  171 

the  others  ought  to  be,  nor  indeed  to  guess  anything 
about  them,  but  what  experience  might  show  to  be 
full  of  disappointment  and  mistake.  And  with  re- 
gard to  the  colors  either  of  birds  or  flowers,  for  there 
is  something  similar  in  the  coloring  of  both,  whether 
they  are  considered  in  their  extension  or  gradation, 
there  is  notliing  of  proportion  to  be  observed.  Some 
are  of  but  one  single  color  ;  others  have  all  the  colors 
of  the  rainbow  ;  some  are  of  the  primary  colors,  others 
are  of  the  mixed  ;  in  short,  an  attentive  observer  may 
soon  conclude  that  there  is  as  little  of  proportion 
in  the  coloring  as  in  the  shapes  of  these  objects. 
Turn  next  to  beasts  ;  examine  the  head  of  a  beauti- 
ful horse ;  find  what  proportion  that  bears  to  his 
body,  and  to  his  limbs,  and  what  relation  these 
have  to  each  other ;  and  when  you  have  settled 
these  proportions  as  a  standard  of  beauty,  then  take 
a  dog  or  cat,  or  any  other  animal,  and  examine  how 
far  the  same  proportions  between  their  heads  and 
their  necks,  between  those  and  the  body,  and  so  on, 
are  found  to  hold ;  I  think  we  may  safely  say,  that 
they  differ  in  every  species,  yet  that  there  are  individ- 
uals, found  in  a  great  many  species  so  differing,  that 
have  a  very  striking  beauty.  Now,  if  it  be  allowed 
that  very  different,  and  even  contrary  forms  and 
dispositions  are  consistent  with  beauty,  it  amounts  I 
believe  to  a  concession,  that  no  certain  measures, 
operating  from  a  natural  principle,  are  necessary  to 
produce  it ;  at  least  so  far  as  the  brute  species  is 
concerned. 


172       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 


SECTION    IV. 

PROPORTION   NOT   THE    CAUSE    OF   BEAUTY   IN   THK 
HUMAN    SPECIES. 

There  are  some  parts  of  the  human  body  that  are 
observed  to  hold  certain  proportions  to  each  other  ; 
but  before  it  can  be  proved  that  the  efficient  cause  of 
beauty  lies  in  these,  it  must  be  shown  that,  wherever 
these  are  found  exact,  the  person  to  whom  they  be- 
long is  beautiful :  I  mean  in  the  effect  i)roduced  on  the 
view,  either  of  any  member  distinctly  considered,  or 
of  the  whole  body  together.  It  must  be  likewise 
shown,  that  these  parts  stand  in  such  a  relation  to 
each  other,  that  the  comparison  between  them  may 
be  easily  made,  and  that  the  affection  of  the  mind 
may  naturally  result  from  it.  For  my  part,  I  have 
at  several  times  very  carefully  examined  many  of 
those  proportions,  and  found  them  hold  very  nearly, 
or  altogether  alike  in  many  subjects,  which  were  not 
only  very  different  from  one  another,  but  where  one 
has  been  very  beautiful,  and  the  other  very  remote 
from  beauty.  With  regard  to  the  parts  which  are 
found  so  proportioned,  they  are  often  so  remote  from 
each  other,  in  situation,  nature,  and  office,  that  I 
cannot  see  how  they  admit  of  any  comparison,  nor 
consequently  how  any  effect  owing  to  proportion  can 
result  from  them.  I'he  neck,  say  they,  in  beautiful 
bodies,  should  measure  with  the  calf  of  the  leg ;  it 
should  likewise  be  twice  the  circumference  of  the 
wrist.  And  nn  infinity  of  observations  of  this  kind 
are  to  l)e  foiintl  in  th(^  wrilings  and  conversations  of 
many.  But  what  relation  has  the  calf  of  the  leg  to 
the  neck;   or  either  of  these   parts   to   the   wrist''' 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL.  173 

These  proportions  are  certainly  to  be  found  in  hand- 
some bodies.  Tliey  are  as  certainly  in  ugly  ones  ;  as 
any  who  will  take  the  pains  to  try  may  find.  Nay,  I 
do  not  know  but  they  may  be  least  perfect  in  some  of 
the  most  beautiful.  You  may  assign  any  proportions 
you  please  to  every  part  of  the  human  body  ;  and  I 
undertake  that  a  painter  shall  religiously  observe 
them  all,  and  notwithstanding  produce,  if  he  pleases, 
a  very  ugly  figure.  The  same  painter  shall  consider- 
aibly  deviate  from  these  proportions,  and  produce  a 
very  beautiful  one.  And,  indeed,  it  may  be  observed 
in  the  masterpieces  of  the  ancient  and  modern  statu- 
ary, that  several  of  them  differ  very  widely  from  the 
proportions  of  others,  in  parts  very  conspicuous  and 
of  great  consideration ;  and  that  they  ditfer  no  less 
from  the  proportions  we  find  in  living  men,  of  forms 
extremely  striking  and  agreeable.  And  after  all, 
how  are  the  partisans  of  proportional  beauty  agreed 
amongst  themselves  about  the  proportions  of  the 
human  body  ?  Some  hold  it  to  be  seven  heads ; 
some  make  it  eight ;  whilst  others  extend  it  even 
to  ten  :  a  vast  difference  in  such  a  small  number  of 
divisions !  Others  take  other  methods  of  estimating 
the  proportions,  and  all  with  equal  success.  But  are 
these  proportions  exactly  the  same  in  all  handsome 
men  ?  or  are  they  at  all  the  proportions  found  in 
beautiful  women  ?  Nobody  will  say  that  they  are ; 
yet  both  sexes  are  undoubtedly  capable  of  beauty,  and 
tlie  female  of  the  greatest ;  which  advantage  I  be- 
lieve will  hardly  be  attributed  to  the  superior  exact- 
ness of  proportion  in  the  fair  sex.  Let  us  rest  a 
moment  on  this  point ;  and  consider  how  much  dif- 
ference there  is  between  the  measures  that  prevail  in 
many  similar  parts  of  the  body,  in  the  two  sexes  of 


174       0^^  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

this  single  species  only.  If  you  assign  any  determi- 
nate proportions  to  the  limbs  of  a  man,  and  if  you 
limit  human  beauty  to  these  proportions,  when  you 
find  a  woman  who  differs  in  the  make  and  measures 
of  almost  every  part,  you  must  conclude  her  not  to  be 
beautiful,  in  spite  of  the  suggestions  of  your  imagi- 
nation ;  or,  in  obedience  to  your  imagination,  you 
must  renounce  your  rules  ;  you  must  lay  by  the 
scale  and  compass,  and  look  out  for  some  other 
cause  of  beauty.  For  if  beauty  be  attached  to 
certain  measures  which  operate  from  a  principle 
in  nature^  why  should  similar  parts  with  different 
measures  of  proportion  be  found  to  have  beauty,  and 
this  too  in  the  very  same  species  ?  But  to  open  our 
view  a  little,  it  is  worth  observing,  that  almost  all 
animals  have  parts  of  very  much  the  same  nature, 
and  destined  nearly  to  the  same  purposes ;  a  head, 
neck,  body,  feet,  eyes,  ears,  nose,  and  mouth  ;  yet 
Providence,  to  provide  in  the  best  manner  for  their 
several  wants,  and  to  display  the  riches  of  his  wis- 
dom and  goodness  in  his  creation,  has  worked  out  of 
these  few  and  similar  organs,  and  members,  a  diver- 
sity hardly  short  of  infinite  in  their  disposition,  meas- 
ures and  relation.  But,  as  we  have  before  observed, 
amidst  this  infinite  diversity,  one  particular  is  com- 
mon to  many  species :  several  of  the  individuals 
which  compose  them  are  capable  of  affecting  us  with 
a  sense  of  loveliness  :  and  whilst  they  agree  in  pro- 
ducing tliis  effect,  they  differ  extremely  in  the  rela- 
tive measures  of  those  jjarts  which  have  produced  it. 
Those  considerations  were  sudiciont  to  induce  me  to 
reject  the  notion  of  any  ])iu'ticular  proportions  that 
operated  by  nature  to  |)r()(luce  a  phiasing  effect ;  but 
those  who  will  agree  with  mc  with  regard  to  a  par- 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL,       175 

ticular  proportion,  are  strongly  prepossessed  in  favor 
of  one  more  indefinite.  They  imagine,  that  although 
beauty  in  general  is  annexed  to  no  certain  measures 
common  to  the  several  kinds  of  pleasing  plants  and 
animals  ;  yet  that  there  is  a  certain  proportion  in 
each  species  absolutely  essential  to  the  beauty  of  that 
particular  kind.  If  we  consider  the  animal  world  in 
general,  we  find  beauty  confined  to  no  certain  meas- 
ures ;  but  as  some  peculiar  measure  and  relation  of 
parts  is  what  distinguishes  each  peculiar  class  of  ani- 
mals, it  must  of  necessity  be,  that  the  beautiful  in 
each  kind  will  be  found  in  the  measures  and  propor- 
tions of  that  kind ;  for  otherwise  it  would  deviate 
from  its  proper  species,  and  become  in  some  sort 
monstrous  :  however,  no  species  is  so  strictly  confined 
to  any  certain  proportions,  that  there  is  not  a  consider- 
able variation  amongst  the  individuals  ;  and  as  it  has 
been  shown  of  the  human,  so  it  may  be  shown  of  the 
brute  kinds,  that  beauty  is  found  indifferently  in  all  the 
proportions  which  each  kind  can  admit,  without  quit- 
ting its  common  form  ;  and  it  is  this  idea  of  a  com- 
mon form  that  makes  the  proportion  of  parts  at  all 
regarded,  and  not  the  operation  of  any  natural  cause  : 
indeed  a  little  consideration  will  make  it  appear,  that 
it  is  not  measure,  but  manner,  that  creates  all  the 
beauty  which  belongs  to  shape.  What  light  do  we 
borrow  from  these  boasted  proportions,  when  we 
study  ornamental  design  ?  It  seems  amazing  to  me, 
that  artists,  if  they  were  as  well  convinced  as  they 
pretend  to  be,  that  proportion  is  a  principal  cause  of 
beauty,  have  not  by  them  at  all  times  accurate  meas- 
urements of  all  sorts  of  beautiful  animals  to  help 
them  to  proper  proportions,  when  they  would  con- 
trive anything  elegant ;  especially  as  they  frequently 


176       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

assert  that  it  is  from  an  observation  of  the  beautiful  in 
nature  they  direct  their  practice.     I  know  that  it  has 
been  said  long  since,  and  echoed  backward  and  for- 
ward from  one  writer  to  another  a  thousand  times, 
that  the  proportions  of  building  have  been  taken  from 
those  of  the  human  body.    To  make  this  forced  analo- 
gy complete,  they  represent  a  man  with  his  arms  raised 
and  extended  at  full  length,  and  then  describe  a  sort 
of  square,  as  it  is  formed  by  passing  lines  along  the  ex- 
tremities of  this  strange  figure.     But  it  appears  very 
clearly  to  me  that  the  human  figure  never  supplied 
the  architect  with  any  of  his  ideas.     For,  in  the  first 
place,  men  are  very  rarely  seen  in  this  strained  pos- 
ture ;  it  is  not  natural  to  them ;  neither  is  it  at  all 
becoming.     Secondly,  the  view  of  the  human  figure 
so  disposed,  does  not  naturally  suggest  the  idea  of  a 
square,  but  rather  of  a  cross ;  as  that  large  space  be 
tween  the  arms  and  the  ground  must  be  filled  with 
something  before  it  can  make  anybody  think  of  a 
square.     Thirdly,  several  buildings  are  by  no  means 
of  the  form  of  that  particular  square,  which  are  not- 
withstanding planned  by  the  best  architects,  and  pro- 
duce  an  elfect  altogether   as   good,  and  perhaps  a 
better.     And  certainly  nothing  could  be  more  unac- 
countably whimsical,  than  for  an  architect  to  model 
his  performance  by  the  human  figure,  since  no  two 
things  can  have  less  resemblance  or  analogy,  tlian  a 
man,  and  a  house  or  temple :  do  we  need  to  observe 
that  their  purposes  are  entirely  different  ?     A\'hat  I 
am  apt  to  suspect  is  this  :  that  these  analogies  were 
devised  to  give  a  credit  to  the  works  of  art,  by  show- 
ing a  conformity  between  tliem  and  the  noblest  works 
in  nnture  ;  not  that  the  lattiM'  served  at  all  to  supply 
hints   for  tlie  perfection  of  the  foiincr.     And   1   am 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.      177 

the  more  fully  couvuiccd,  that  the  patrons  of  propor- 
tion have  transferred  their  artificial  ideas  to  nature, 
and  not  borrowed  from  thence  the  proportions  they 
use  in  works  of  art ;  because  in  any  discussion  of  this 
subject  they  always  quit  as  soon  as  possible  the  open 
field  of  natural  beauties,  the  animal  and  vegetable 
kingdoms,  and  fortify  themselves  within  the  artificial 
lines  and  angles  of  arcliitecture.  For  there  is  in  man- 
kind an  unfortunate  propensity  to  make  themselves, 
their  views,  and  their  works,  the  measure  of  excel- 
lence in  everything  whatsoever.  Therefore  having 
observed  that  their  dwellings  were  most  commodious 
and  firm  when  they  were  thrown  into  regular  figures, 
with  parts  answerable  to  each  other  ;  they  transferred 
these  ideas  to  their  gardens  ;  they  turned  their  trees 
into  pillars,  pyramids,  and  obelisks ;  they  formed 
their  hedges  into  so  many  green  walls,  and  fashioned 
their  walks  into  squares,  triangles,  and  other  mathe- 
matical figures,  with  exactness  and  symmetry ;  and 
they  thought,  if  they  were  not  imitating,  they  were 
at  least  improving  nature,  and  teaching  her  to  know 
her  business.  But  nature  has  at  last  escaped  from 
their  discipline  and  their  fetters  ;  and  our  gardens,  if 
nothing  else,  declare,  we  begin  to  feel  that  mathemat- 
ical ideas  are  not  the  true  measures  of  beauty.  And 
surely  they  are  full  as  little  so  in  the  animal  as  the 
vegetable  world.  For  is  it  not  extraordinary,  that  in 
these  fine  descriptive  pieces,  these  innumerable  odes 
and  elegies  which  are  in  the  mouths  of  all  the  world, 
and  many  of  which  have  been  the  entertainment  of 
ages,  that  in  these  pieces  which  describe  love  with  such 
a  passionate  energy,  and  represent  its  object  in  such 
an  infinite  variety  of  lights,  not  one  word  is  said  of 
proi)ortion,  if  it  l^e,  what  some  insist  it  is,  the  prmci- 

VOL.  I.  12 


178  0^'    THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

pal  component  of  beauty ;  whilst,  at  the  same  time, 
several  otlier  qualities  are  very  frequently  and  warm- 
ly mentioned  ?  But  if  proportion  has  not  this  power, 
it  may  appear  odd  how  men  came  originally  to  be  so 
prepossessed  in  its  favor.  It  arose,  I  imagine,  from 
the  fondness  I  have  just  mentioned,  which  men  bear 
so  remarkably  to  their  own  works  and  notions ;  it 
arose  from  false  reasonings  on  the  effects  of  the  cus- 
tomary figure  of  animals ;  it  arose  from  the  Platonic 
theory  of  fitness  and  aptitude.  For  which  reason,  in 
the  next  section,  I  shall  consider  the  effects  of  custom 
in  the  figure  of  animals  ;  and  afterwards  the  idea  of 
fitness :  since  if  proportion  does  not  operate  by  a  nat- 
ural power  attending  some  measures,  it  must  be 
either  by  custom,  or  the  idea  of  utility ;  there  is  no 
other  way. 


SECTION    V. 

PROPORTION    FURTHER    CONSIDERED. 

If  I  am  not  mistaken,  a  great  deal  of  the  prejudice 
in  favor  of  proportion  has  arisen,  not  so  much  from 
the  observation  of  any  certain  measures  found  in  beau- 
tiful bodies,  as  from  a  wrong  idea  of  the  relation  which 
deformity  bears  to  beauty,  to  which  it  has  been  consid- 
ered as  the  opposite  ;  on  this  principle  it  was  conclu- 
ded that  where  the  causes  of  deformity  were  removed, 
beauty  must  naturally  and  necessarily  be  introduced. 
Tliis  I  believe  is  a  mistake.  For  deformity  is  opj)osc(i 
not  to  l)eauty,  Ijut  to  the  complete  common  form.  If 
one  of  the  legs  of  a  man  be  found  shorter  than  the 
otluir,  the  mail  is  dcjformod  ;  because  tbcre  is  some- 
thing wanting  to  complete  the  wliole  idea  we  form  of 


ON   THE   SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL.  179 

a  man  ;  and  this  has  the  same  effect  in  natural  faults, 
as  maiming  and  mutilation  produce  from  accidents. 
So  if  the  back  be  humped,  the  man  is  deformed  ;  be- 
cause his  back  has  an  unusual  figure,  and  what  car- 
ries with  it  the  idea  of  some  disease  or  misfortune  ; 
so  if  a  man's  neck  be  considerably  longer  or  shorter 
than  usual,  we  say  he  is  deformed  in  that  part,  be 
cause  men  are  not  commonly  made  in  that  manner. 
But  surely  every  hour's  experience  may  convince  us 
that  a  man  may  liave  his  legs  of  an  equal  length,  and 
resembling  each  otlier  in  all  respects,  and  his  neck  of 
a  just  size,  and  his  back  quite  straight,  without  hav- 
ing at  the  same  time  the  least  perceivable  beauty.  In- 
deed beauty  is  so  far  from  belonging  to  the  idea  of 
custom,  that  in  reality  what  affects  us  in  that  manner 
is  extremely  rare  and  uncommoi*.  The  beautiful 
strikes  tis  as  much  by  its  novelty  as  the  deformed  it- 
self. It  is  thus  in  those  species  of  animals  with  which 
we  are  acquainted  ;  and  if  one  of  a  new  species  were 
represented,  we  should  by  no  means  wait  until  custom 
had  settled  an  idea  of  proportion,  before  we  decided 
concerning  its  beauty  or  ugliness  :  which  shows  that 
the  general  idea  of  beauty  can  be  no  more  owing  to 
customary  than  to  natural  proportion.  Deformity 
arises  from  the  want  of  the  common  proportions  ;  but 
the  necessary  result  of  their  existence  in  any  object  is 
not  beauty.  If  we  suppose  proportion  in  natural 
things  to  be  relative  to  custom  and  use,  the  nature 
of  use  and  custom  will  show  that  beauty,  which  is  a 
positive  and  powerful  quality,  cannot  result  from  it. 
We  are  so  wonderfully  formed,  that,  whilst  we  are 
creatures  vehemently  desirous  of  novelty,  we  are  as 
strongly  attached  to  habit  and  custom.  But  it  is  the 
nature  of  things  which  hold  us  by  custom,  to  affect 


180       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

US  very  little  whilst  we  are  in  possession  of  them,  but 
strongly  when  they  are  absent.  I  remember  to  have 
frequented  a  certain  place,  every  day  for  a  long  time 
together ;  and  I  may  truly  say  that,  so  far  from  find- 
ing pleasure  in  it,  I  was  affected  with  a  sort  of  weari- 
ness -and  disgust;  I  came,  I  went,  I  returned,  without 
pleasure  ;  yet  if  by  any  means  I  passed  by  the  usual 
time  of  my  going  thither,  I  was  remarkably  uneasy, 
and  was  not  quiet  till  I  had  got  into  my  old  track. 
Tliey  who  use  snuff,  take  it  almost  without  being  sen- 
sible that  they  take  it,  and  the  acute  sense  of  smell  is 
deadened,  so  as  to  feel  hardly  anything  from  so  sharp 
a  stimulus  ;  yet  deprive  the  snuff-taker  of  his  box,  and 
he  is  the  most  uneasy  mortal  in  the  world.  Indeed 
so  far  are  use  and  habit  from  being  causes  of  pleasure 
merely  as  such,  tliat  the  effect  of  constant  use  is  to 
make  all  things  of  whatever  kind  entirely  unaffecting. 
For  as  use  at  last  takes  off  tlic  painful  effect  of  many 
things,  it  reduces  the  pleasurable  effect  in  others  in 
the  same  manner,  and  brings  both  to  a  sort  of  medi- 
ocrity and  indifference.  Very  justly  is  use  called  a 
second  nature ;  and  our  natural  and  common  state  is 
one  of  absolute  indifierence,  equally  prepared  for  pain 
or  pleasure.  But  when  we  are  thrown  out  of  this  state, 
or  deprived  of  anything  requisite  to  maintain  us  in  it ; 
wlien  this  chance  does  not  happen  by  pleasure  irom 
some  mechanical  cause,  we  are  always  hurt.  It  is  so 
witb  tbe  secoml  iinturo,  custom,  in  nil  lliings  wliicli 
reflate  to  it.  Thus  the  want  of  the  usual  proportions  in 
men  and  oUier  animals  is  sure  to  disgust,  tliough  tluMr 
pniseixjc  is  l)y  no  moans  any  cause  of  real  i>leasure.  It 
is  true  that  the  f)i"()])<)rti()ns  laid  down  as  causes  of 
beauty  in  tli(3  Iniman  l)oiiy,  are  freciuenlly  fonnd  in 
beauliful  ones,  because  they  are  generally  found  iu 


ON   THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL.  181 

all  mankind  ;  bat  if  it  can  be  shown  too  tliat  they  are 
found  without  beauty,  and  that  beauty  frequently  ex- 
ists without  them,  and  that  this  beauty,  where  it  ex- 
ists, always  can  be  assigned  to  other  less  equivocal 
causes,  it  will  naturally  lead  us  to  conclude  that  pro- 
portion and  beauty  are  not  ideas  of  the  same  nature. 
The  true  opposite  to  beauty  is  not  disproportion  or 
deformity,  but  ugliness  :  and  as  it  proceeds  from 
causes  opposite  to  those  of  positive  beauty,  we  cannot 
consider  it  until  we  come  to  treat  of  that.  Between 
beauty  and  ugliness  there  is  a  sort  of  mediocrity,  in 
which  the  assigned  proportions  are  most  commonly 
found  ;  but  this  has  no  effect  upon  the  passions. 


SECTION    V  I. 

FITNESS    NOT    THE    CAUSE    OF    BEAUTY. 

It  is  said  that  the  idea  of  utility,  or  of  a  part's  being 
well  adapted  to  answer  its  end,  is  the  cause  of  beauty, 
or  indeed  beauty  itself.  If  it  were  not  for  this  opin- 
ion, it  had  been  impossible  for  the  doctrine  of  pro- 
portion to  have  held  its  ground  very  long ;  the  world 
would  be  soon  weary  of  hearing  of  measures  which 
related  to  nothing,  either  of  a  natural  principle,  or  of 
a  fitness  to  answer  some  end  ;  the  idea  which  man- 
kind most  commonly  conceive  of  proportion,  is  the 
suitableness  of  means  to  certain  ends,  and,  where  this 
is  not  the  question,  very  seldom  trouble  themselves 
about  the  effect  of  different  measures  of  things. 
Therefore  it  was  necessary  for  tliis  theory  to  insist 
that  not  only  artificial,  but  natural  objects  took  their 
beauty  from  the  fitness  of  the  parts  for  their  several 
purposes.    But  in  framing  this  theory,  I  am  appreheii- 


182  ON  THE  sublime;  and  beautiful, 

sive  that  experience  was  not  sufficiently  consulted. 
For,  on  that  principle,  the  wedge-like  snout  of  a  swine, 
with  its  tough  cartilage  at  the  end,  the  little  sunk 
eyes,  and  the  whole  make  of  the  head,  so  well  adapted 
to  its  offices  of  digging  and  rooting,  would  be  extreme- 
ly beautiful.  The  great  bag  hanging  to  the  bill  of  a 
pelican,  a  thing  highly  useful  to  this  animal,  would 
be  likewise  as  beautiful  in  our  eyes.  The  hedge-hog, 
so  well  secured  against  all  assaults  by  his  prickly 
hide,  and  the  porcupine  with  his  missile  quills,  would 
be  then  considered  as  creatures  of  no  small  elegance. 
Tliere  are  few  animals  whose  parts  are  better  con- 
trived than  those  of  a  monkey  :  he  has  the  hands  of 
a  man,  joined  to  the  springy  limbs  of  a  beast;  he 
is  admirably  calculated  for  running,  leaping,  grap- 
pling, and  climbing ;  and  yet  there  are  few  animals 
which  seem  to  have  less  beauty  in  the  eyes  of  all  man- 
Ivind.  I  need  say  little  on  the  trunk  of  the  elephant, 
of  such  various  usefulness,  and  which  is  so  far  from 
contributing  to  his  beauty.  How  well  fitted  is  the 
wolf  for  running  and  lea])iiig  !  how  admirably  is  the 
lion  armed  for  battle !  but  will  any  one  therefore  call 
the  elephant,  the  wolf,  and  the  lion,  beautiful  ani- 
mals ?  I  believe  nobody  will  think  the  form  of  a 
man's  leg  so  well  adapted  to  running,  as  those  of  a 
horse,  a  dog,  a  deer,  and  several  other  creatures ;  at 
least  they  have  not  that  appearance :  yet,  I  believe, 
a  well-fashioned  human  leg  will  be  allowed  to  far  ex- 
ceed all  tlicse  in  bcanty.  If  the  fitness  of  parts  was 
what  constituted  the  loveliness  of  their  form,  the  ac- 
tual em]>loyment  of  them  wouhl  undoubtedly  much 
augment  it ;  but  this,  though  it  is  somctimcH  so  upon 
anothei'  princijde,  is  far  IVoin  bi;iiig  always  the  case. 
A  bird  on  the  wing  is  not  so  beautiful  as  when  it  is 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       183 

perched ;  nay,  there  are  several  of  the  domestic  fowls 
wliich  are  seldom  seen  to  fly,  and  which  are  nothing 
the  less  bcantifnl  on  that  account ;  yet  birds  are  so  ex- 
tremely different  in  their  form  from  the  beast  and  hu- 
man kinds,  that  you  cannot,  on  the  principle  of  fitness, 
allow  them  anything  agreeable,  but  in  consideration 
of  their  parts  being  designed  for  quite  other  purposes. 
I  never  in  my  life  chanced  to  see  a  peacock  fly ;  and 
yet  before,  very  long  before  I  considered  any  aptitude 
in  his  form  for  the  aerial  life,  I  was  struck  with  the 
extreme  beauty  wliich  raises  that  bird  above  many  of 
the  best  flying  fowls  in  the  world  ;  though,  for  any- 
thing I  saw,  his  way  of  living  was  much  like  that  of 
the  swine,  which  fed  in  tlie  farm-yard  along  with  him. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  cocks,  hens,  and  the  like  ; 
they  are  of  the  fljang  kind  in  figure  ;  in  their  man- 
ner of  moving  not  very  different  from  men  and  beasts. 
To  leave  these  foreign  examples  ;  if  beauty  in  our  own 
species  was  annexed  to  use,  men  would  be  much  more 
lovely  than  women  ;  and  strength  and  agility  would 
be  considered  as  the  only  beauties.  But  to  call 
strength  by  the  name  of  beauty,  to  have  but  one  de- 
nomination for  the  qualities  of  a  Venus  and  Hercu- 
les, so  totally  different  in  almost  all  respects,  is  surely 
a  strange  confusion  of  ideas,  or  abuse  of  words.  The 
cause  of  this  confusion,  I  imagine,  proceeds  from  our 
frequently  perceiving  the  parts  of  the  human  and 
other  animal  bodies  to  be  at  once  very  beautiful,  and 
very  well  adapted  to  their  purposes ;  and  we  are  de- 
ceived by  a  sopliism,  which  makes  us  take  that  for 
a  cause  which  is  only  a  concomitant :  this  is  the 
sophism  of  the  fly  ;  who  imagined  he  raised  a  great 
dust,  because  he  stood  upon  the  chariot  that  really 
raised  it.     The  stomach,  the  lungs,  the  liver,  as  well 


184       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

as  other  parts,  are  incomparably  well  adapted  to  their 
purposes ;  yet  they  are  far  from  having  any  heauty. 
Again,  many  things  are  very  beautiful,  in  which  it  is 
impossible  to  discern  any  idea  of  use.  And  I  appeal 
to  the  first  and  most  natural  feelings  of  mankind, 
whether  on  beholding  a  beaiitiful  eye,  or  a  wcll- 
fasliioned  mouth,  or  a  well-turned  leg,  any  ideas  of 
tlieir  being  well  fitted  for  seehig,  eatuig,  or  running, 
ever  present  themselves.  What  idea  of  use  is  it  that 
flowers  excite,  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  vegeta- 
ble world  ?  It  is  true  that  tlie  infinitely  wise  and 
good  Creator  has,  of  his  bounty,  frequently  joined 
beauty  to  those  things  which  he  has  made  useful  to 
us ;  but  this  does  not  prove  that  an  idea  of  use  and 
beauty  are  the  same  thing,  or  that  they  are  any  way 
dependent  on  each  other. 


SECTION    VII. 

THE    REAL    EFFECTS    OF    FITNESS. 

When  I  excluded  proportion  and  fitness  from  any 
share  in  beauty,  I  did  not  by  any  means  intend  to  say 
that  they  were  of  no  value,  or  that  tliey  ought  to  be 
disregarded  in  works  of  art.  AVorks  of  art  are  the 
proper  splierc  of  their  power ;  and  here  it  is  that  they 
have  their  full  ellcct.  WJicnever  the  wisdom  of  uur 
Creator  intended  that  we  should  be  affected  with 
anything,  lie  did  not  confide  the  execution  of  his  de- 
sign to  the  languid  and  precarious  operation  of  our 
reason  ;  but  he  endued  it  with  j)o\vers  and  properties 
that  j^revent  the  un(hMstan(hng,  and  even  the  will ; 
which,  seizing  upon  the  senses  and  imagination,  cap- 
tivate  the    soul,   before   the  understanding  is  ready 


ON    THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL.  185 

either  to  join  with  them,  or  to  oppose  them.  It  is  by 
a  long  dodnction,  and  much  study,  that  we  discover 
the  adorable  wisdom  of  God  in  his  \rorks :  when  we 
discover  it  the  effect  is  very  different,. not  only  in  the 
manner  of  acquiring  it,  but  in  its  own  nature,  from 
that  which  strikes  us  without  any  preparation  from 
the  sublime  or  the  beautiful.  How  different  is  the 
satisfaction  of  an  anatomist,  who  discovers  the  use  of 
the  muscles  and  of  the  skin,  the  excellent  contrivance 
of  the  one  for  the  various  movements  of  the  body, 
and  the  wonderful  texture  of  the  other,  at  once  a 
general  covering,  and  at  once  a  general  outlet  as  well 
as  inlet ;  how  different  is  this  from  the  affection 
which  possesses  an  ordinary  man  at  the  sight  of  a 
delicate,  smooth  skin,  and  all  the  other  parts  of  beau- 
ty, which  require  no  investigation  to  be  perceived ! 
In  the  former  case,  whilst  we  look  up  to  the  Maker 
with  admiration  and  praise,  the  object  which  causes 
it  may  be  odious  and  distasteful ;  the  latter  very  of- 
ten so  touches  us  by  its  power  on  the  imagination, 
that  we  examine  but  little  into  the  artifice  of  its  con- 
trivance ;  and  we  have  need  of  a  strong  effort  of  our 
reason  to  disentangle  our  minds  from  the  allurements 
of  the  object,  to  a  consideration  of  that  wisdom  which 
invented  so  powerful  a  machine.  The  effect  of  pro- 
portion and  fitness,  at  least  so  far  as  they  proceed 
from  a  mere  consideration  of  the  work  itself,  produce 
approbation,  the  acquiescence  of  the  understanding, 
but  not  love,  nor  any  passion  of  that  species.  When 
we  examine  the  structure  of  a  watch,  when  we  come 
to  know  thoroughly  the  use  of  every  part  of  it,  satis- 
fied as  we  are  with  the  fitness  of  the  w^hole,  sve  are 
far  enough  from  perceiving  anything  like  beamy  in 
the  watch-work  itself;  but  let  us  look  on  the  case, 


186       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

the  labor  of  some  curious  artist  in  engraving,  with 
little  or  no  idea  of  use,  we  shall  have  a  much  livelier 
idea  of  beauty  than  we  ever  could  have  had  from  the 
watch  itself,  though  the  masterpiece  of  Graham.  In 
beauty,  as  I  said,  the  effect  is  previous  to  any  knowl- 
edge of  the  use  ;  but  to  judge  of  proportion,  we  must 
know  the  end  for  which  any  work  is  designed.  Ac- 
cording to  the  end,  the  proportion  varies.  Thus 
there  is  one  proportion  of  a  tower,  another  of  a 
house  ;  one  proportion  of  a  gallery,  another  of  a  hall, 
another  of  a  chamber.  To  judge  of  the  proportions 
of  these,  you  must  be  first  acquainted  witli  the  pur- 
poses for  which  tliey  were  designed.  Good  sense  and 
experience  acting  together,  find  out  what  is  fit  to  be 
done  in  every  work  of  art.  We  are  rational  crea- 
tures, and  in  all  our  works  we  ought  to  regard  their 
end  and  purpose  ;  the  gratification  of  any  passion, 
how  innocent  soever,  ought  only  to  be  of  secondary 
consideration.  Herein  is  placed  the  real  power  of  fit- 
ness and  proportion  ;  they  operate  on  the  understand- 
ing considering  them,  which  approves  the  work  and 
acquiesces  in  it.  The  passions,  and  the  imagination 
which  principally  raises  them,  have  here  very  little  to 
do.  When  a  room  appears  in  its  original  nakedness, 
bare  walls  and  a  plain  ceiling :  let  its  proportion  be 
ever  so  excellent,  it  pleases  very  little  ;  a  cold  appro- 
bation is  the  utmost  we  can  reach  ;  a  much  worse 
proportioned  room  with  elegant  mouldings  and  fine 
festoons,  glasses,  and  other  merely  ornamental  furni- 
ture, will  make  the  imagination  revolt  against  the 
reason  ;  it  will  please  mucli  more  tluin  the  naked 
I)r()porlion  of  the  first  room,  which  the  understanding 
has  so  much  a])pn)ved,  as  admii-ably  fitted  for  its  ])ur- 
poses.     What  1  have  here,  said  and  before;  concci-ning 


ON  THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  187 

proportion,  is  by  no  means  to  persuade  people  absurd- 
ly to  neglect  the  idea  of  use  in  the  works  of  art.  It  is 
only  to  show  that  these  excellent  things,  beauty  and 
proportion,  are  not  the  same ;  not  that  they  should 
either  of  them  be  disregarded. 


SECTION    VIII. 

THE    RECAPITULATION. 

On  the  whole  ;  if  such  parts  in  human  bodies  as  are 
found  proportioned,  were  likewise  constantly  found 
beautiful,  as  they  certainly  are  not ;  or  if  they  were 
so  situated,  as  that  a  pleasure  might  flow  from  the 
comparison,  which  they  seldom  are  ;  or  if  any  assign- 
able proportions  were  found,  either  in  plants  or  ani- 
mals, which  were  always  attended  with  beauty,  which 
never  was  the  case  ;  or  if,  where  parts  were  well  adapt- 
ed to  their  purposes,  they  were  constantly  beautiful, 
and  when  no  use  appeared,  there  was  no  beauty, 
which  is  contrary  to  all  experience  ;  we  might  con- 
clude that  beauty  consisted  in  proportion  or  utility. 
But  since,  in  all  respects,  the  case  is  quite  otherwise  ; 
we  may  be  satisfied  that  beauty  does  not  depend  on 
these,  let  it  owe  its  origin  to  what  else  it  will. 


SECTION    IX. 

PERFECTION  NOT  THE  CAUSE  OF  BEAUTY. 

There  is  another  notion  current,  pretty  closely 
allied  to  the  former ;  that  perfection  is  the  constit- 
uent cause  of  beauty.  This  opinion  has  been  made 
to  extend   much  further   than   to   sensible   objects. 


18S  ON    THE    SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

But  ill  these,  so  far  is  perfection,  considered  as 
such,  from  being  the  cause  of  beauty  ;  that  this 
quality,  where  it  is  highest,  in  the  female  sex, 
almost  always  carries  with  it  an  idea  of  weakucbs 
and  imperfection.  Women  are  very  sensible  of  this ; 
for  which  reason  they  learn  to  lisp,  to  totter  in  their 
walk,  to  counterfeit  weakness,  and  even  sickness. 
In  all  this  they  are  guided  by  nature.  Beauty  in 
distress  is  much  the  most  affecting  beauty.  Blush- 
ing has  little  less  power ;  and  modesty  in  general, 
which  is  a  tacit  allowance  of  imperfection,  is  itself 
considered  as  an  amiable  quality,  and  certainly  height- 
ens every  other  that  is  so.  I  know  it  is  in  every 
body's  mouth,  that  we  ought  to  love  perfection.  This 
is  to  me  a  sufficient  proof,  that  it  is  not  the  proper 
object  of  love.  Who  ever  said  we  ought  to  love  a  fine 
woman,  or  even  any  of  these  beautiful  animals  which 
please  us  ?  Here  to  be  affected,  there  is  no  need  of 
the  concurrence  of  our  will. 


SECTION    X. 

HOW    FAR    THE    IDEA    OF    BEAUTY    MAY    BE    APPLIED    TO 
THE    QUALITIES    OF    THE    5UND. 

Nor  is  this  remark  in  general  less  applicable  to  the 
qualities  of  the  mind.  Those  virtues  which  cause 
admiration,  and  are  of  the  sublimer  kind,  produce 
terror  rather  than  love ;  such  as  fortitude,  justice, 
wisdom,  and  the  like.  Never  was  any  man  amiable 
by  force  of  tbese  qualities.  Those  which  engage  our 
hearts,  whicli  impress  us  with  a  sense  of  loveliness, 
are  the  softer  virtues  ;  easiness  of  temper,  compas- 
sion, kindness,  and  liberality  ;  tliough  certainly  those 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       189 

latter  arc  of  less  immediate  and  momentous  concern 
to  society,  and  of  less  dignity.  But  it  is  for  that 
reason  that  they  are  so  amiable.  The  great  vir 
tues  turn  principally  on  dangers,  punishments,  and 
troubles,  and  are  exercised,  rather  in  preventing  the 
worst  mischiefs,  than  in  dispensing  favors ;  and  are 
therefore  not  lovely,  though  highly  venerable.  The 
subordinate  turn  on  reliefs,  gratifications,  and  indul- 
gences ;  and  are  therefore  more  lovely,  though  infe- 
rior in  dignity.  Those  persons  who  creep  into  the 
hearts  of  most  people,  who  are  chosen  as  the  compan- 
ions of  their  softer  hours,  and  their  reliefs  from  care 
and  anxiety,  are  never  persons  of  shining  qualities  or 
strong  virtues.  It  is  rather  the  soft  green  of  the 
soul  on  which  we  rest  our  eyes,  that  are  fatigued  with 
beholding  more  glaring  objects.  It  is  wortli  observ- 
ing how  we  feel  ourselves  affected  in  reading  the 
characters  of  Caesar  and  Cato,  as  they  are  so  finely 
drawn  and  contrasted  in  Sallust.  In  one  the  igno- 
scendo  largiundo  ;  in  the  other,  nil  largiundo.  In  one, 
the  miseris  'perfiigium  ;  in  the  other,  malls  perniciem. 
In  the  latter  we  have  much  to  admire,  much  to  rev- 
erence, and  perhaps  something  to  fear  ;  we  respect 
him,  but  we  respect  him  at  a  distance.  The  former 
makes  us  familiar  with  him  ;  we  love  him,  and  he 
leads  us  whither  he  pleases.  To  draw  things  closer 
to  our  first  and  most  natural  feelings,  I  will  add  a  re- 
mark made  upon  reading  this  section  by  an  ingen- 
ious friend.  The  authority  of  a  father,  so  useful  to 
our  well-being,  and  so  justly  venerable  upon  all  ac- 
counts, hinders  us  from  having  that  entire  love  for 
him  that  we  have  for  our  mothers, where  the  parental 
authority  is  almost  melted  down  into  the  mother's 
fondness  and  indulgence.     But  we  generally  have  a 


190       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

great  love  for  our  grandfathers,  in  whom  this  au- 
thority is  removed  a  degree  from  us,  and  where  the 
weakness  of  age  mellows  it  into  something  of  a  fem- 
inine partiality. 


SECTION    XL 

HOW    FAR    THE    IDEA    OF    BEAUTY    MAT   BE    APPLIED    TO 

VIRTUE. 

From  what  has  been  said  in  the  foregoing  section, 
we  may  easily  see  how  far  the  application  of  beauty 
to  virtue  may  be  made  with  propriety.  The  general 
application  of  this  quality  to  virtue  has  a  strong  ten- 
dency to  confound  our  ideas  of  things,  and  it  has 
given  rise  to  an  infinite  deal  of  whimsical  theory ;  as 
the  affixing  the  name  of  beauty  to  proportion,  con- 
gruity,  and  perfection,  as  well  as  to  qualities  of 
things  yet  more  remote  from  our  natural  ideas  of 
it,  and  from  one  another,  has  tended  to  confound  our 
ideas  of  beauty,  and  left  us  no  standard  or  rule  to 
judge  by,  that  was  not  even  more  uncertain  and  fal- 
lacious tlian  our  own  fancies.  This  loose  and  inac- 
curate manner  of  speaking  has  therefore  misled  us 
both  in  the  theory  of  taste  and  of  morals  ;  and  in- 
duced us  to  remove  the  science  of  our  duties  from 
their  proper  basis  (our  reason,  our  relations,  and 
our  necessities),  to  rest  it  upon  foundations  alto- 
gether visionary  and  unsubstantial. 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL.  19] 

SECTION   XII. 

THE  REAL  CAUSE  OF  BEAUTY. 

Having  endeavored  to  show  what  beauty  is  not,  it 
remains  that  we  should  examine,  at  least  with  equal 
attention,  in  what  it  really  consists.  Beauty  is  a 
thing  nj-ich  too  affecting  not  to  depend  upon  some 
positive  qualities.  And  since  it  is  no  creature  of  our 
reason,  since  it  strikes  us  without  any  reference  to 
use,  and  even  where  no  use  at  all  can  be  discerned, 
since  the  order  and  method  of  nature  is  generally  very 
different  from  our  measures  and  proportions,  we  must 
conclude  that  beauty  is,  for  the  greater  part,  some 
quality  in  bodies  acting  mechanically  upon  the  hu- 
man mind  by  the  intervention  of  the  senses.  We 
ought,  therefore,  to  consider  attentively  in  what  man- 
ner those  sensible  qualities  are  disposed,  in  such  things 
as  by  experience  we  find  beautiful,  or  which  excite  in 
us  the  passion  of  love,  or  some  correspondent  affec- 
tion. 

SECTION    XIII. 

BEAUTIFUL    OBJECTS    SMALL. 

The  most  obvious  point  that  presents  itself  to  us  in 
examining  any  object  is  its  extent  or  quantity.  And 
what  degree  of  extent  prevails  in  bodies  that  are  held 
beautiful,  may  be  gathered  from  the  usual  manner  of 
expression  concernuig  it.  I  am  told  that,  in  most 
languages,  the  objects  of  love  are  spoken  of  under 
diminutive  epithets.  It  is  so  in  all  tlie  languages  of 
which  I  have  any  knowledge.  In  Greek  the  lov  and 
other  diminutive  terms  are  almost  always  the  terms 


192  ON   THE   SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

of  affection  and  tenderness.     These  diminutives  were 
commonly  added  by  the  Greeks  to  the  names  of  per- 
sons with  wliom  they  conversed  on  terms  of  friend- 
ship and  familiarity.     Though   the  Romans  were  a 
people  of  less  quick  and  delicate  feelings,  yet  they 
naturally  slid  into  the  lessening  termination  upon  the 
same  occasions.     Anciently,  in  the  English  language, 
the  diminishing  ling  was  added  to  the  names  of  per- 
sons and  things  that  were  the  objects  of  love.     Some 
we  retain  still,  as  darling  (or  little  dear),  and  a  few 
others.     But  to  this  day,  in  ordinary  conversation,  it 
is  usual  to  add  the  endearing  name  of  little  to  every- 
thing we  love  ;  the  French  and  Italians  make  use  of 
these  affectionate  diminutives  even  more  tlian  we. 
In  the  animal  creation,  out  of  our  own  species,  it  is 
the  small  we  are  inclined  to  be  fond  of;  little  birds, 
and  some  of  the  smaller  kinds  of  beasts.     A  great 
beautiful  tiling  is  a  manner  of  expression   scarcely 
ever  used  ;  but  that  of  a  great  ugly  thing  is  very 
common.     There  is  a  wide  difference  between  admi- 
ration and  love.     The  suhhme,  wliich  is  the  cause  of 
the  former,  always  dwells  on  great  objects,  and  terri- 
1)lc  ;  tlic  latter  on  small  ones,  and  pleasing  ;  we  sub- 
mit to  what  we  admire,  but  we  love  what  submits  to 
us ;  in  one  case  we  are  forced,  in  the  other  we  are 
flattered,  into  compliance.     In  short,  the  ideas  of  the 
suljliine  and  the  bcautifnl  stand   on   foundations   so 
dilferent,  that  it  is  hard,  I  had  almost  said  impossible, 
to   think  of  reconciling   thcni   in    llu;    same   subject, 
wif-hout  consi(leral)ly  lessening  the  cHcct  of  the  one 
or  the  other  ujion  the  ])assi()ns.     So  that,  attending 
to  their  (jnuntity,  bcautifnl  oltjects  are  comparatively 
small. 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  193 

SECTION    XIV. 

SMOOTHNESS. 

The  next  property  constantly  observable  in  such 
objects  is  smoothness  ;  *  a  quality  so  essential  to  beau- 
ty, that  I  do  not  now  recollect  anything  beautiful 
that  is  not  smooth.  In  trees  and  flowers,  smooth 
leaves  are  beautiful ;  smooth  slopes  of  earth  in  gar- 
dens ;  smooth  streams  in  the  landscape ;  smooth 
coats  of  birds  and  beasts  in  animal  beauties  ;  in 
fine  women,  smooth  skins  ;  and  in  several  sorts  of 
ornamental  furniture,  smooth  and  polished  surfaces. 
A  very  considerable  part  of  the  effect  of  beauty  is 
owing  to  this  quality  ;  indeed  the  most  considerable. 
For,  take  any  beautiful  object,  and  give  it  a  broken 
and  rugged  surface ;  and,  however  well  formed  it 
may  be  in  other  respects,  it  pleases  no  longer. 
Whereas,  let  it  want  ever  so  many  of  the  other 
constituents,  if  it  wants  not  this,  it  becomes  more 
pleasing  than  almost  all  the  others  without  it.  This 
seems  to  me  so  evident,  that  I  am  a  good  deal  sur- 
prised that  none  who  have  handled  the  subject  have 
made  any  mention  of  the  quality  of  smoothness  in 
the  enumeration  of  those  that  go  to  the  forming  of 
beauty.  For,  indeed,  any  ruggedness,  any  sudden 
projection,  any  sharp  angle,  is  in  the  highest  degree 
contrary  to  that  idea 

*  Part  IV.  sect.  20. 


VOL.  I.  18 


194  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUIi. 

SECTION   XV. 

GRADUAL    VARIATION. 

But  as  perfectly  beautiful  bodies  are  not  composed 
of  angular  parts,  so  their  parts  never  continue  long 
in  the  same  right  line,*  They  vary  their  direction 
every  moment,  and  they  change  under  the  eye  by  a 
deviation  continually  carrying  on,  but  for  whose  be- 
ginning or  end  you  will  find  it  difficult  to  ascertain  a 
point.  The  view  of  a  beautiful  bird  will  illustrate 
this  observation.  Here  we  see  the  head  increasing 
insensibly  to  the  middle,  from  whence  it  lessens  grad- 
ually until  it  mixes  with  the  neck ;  the  neck  loses 
itself  in  a  larger  swell,  which  continues  to  the  middle 
of  the  body,  when  the  whole  decreases  again  to  the 
tail ;  the  tail  takes  a  new  direction,  but  it  soon  varies 
its  new  course,  it  blends  again  with  the  other  parts, 
and  the  line  is  perpetually  changing,  above,  below, 
upon  every  side.  In  this  description  I  have  before 
me  tlie  idea  of  a  dove  ;  it  agrees  very  well  with  most 
of  the  conditions  of  beauty.  It  is  smooth  and  downy ; 
its  parts  are  (to  use  that  expression)  melted  into  one 
anotlier  ;  you  are  presented  with  no  sudden  protu- 
berance through  the  whole,  and  yet  the  whole  is  con- 
tinually changing.  Observe  that  part  of  a  beautiful 
woman  where  she  is  perhaps  the  most  beautiful, 
about  the  neck  and  breasts  ;  the  smoothness,  the  soft- 
ness, the  easy  and  insensible  swell ;  the  variety  of  the 
surface,  which  is  never  for  the  smallest  space  the 
same ;  tbe  deceitful  maze  tbrough  which  the  un- 
steady eye  slides  giddily,  witbout  knowing  where  to 
fix,  or  whither  it  is  carri(;d.     Is  not  this  a  demonstra- 

*  I'mt  IV.  sect.  23. 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       lOo 

tion  of  that  change  of  surface,  continual,  and  yet 
hardly  perceptible  at  any  point,  which  forms  one  of 
the  great  constituents  of  beaiity  ?  It  gives  me  no 
small  pleasure  to  find  that  I  can  strengthen  my  the- 
ory in  this  point  by  the  opinion  of  the  very  ingenious 
Mr.  Hogarth,  whose  idea  of  the  line  of  beauty  I  take 
in  general  to  be  extremely  just.  But  the  idea  of 
variation,  without  attending  so  accurately  to  the  man- 
ner of  the  variation,  has  led  him  to  consider  angular 
figures  as  beautiful ;  these  figures,  it  is  true,  vary 
greatly,  yet  they  vary  in  a  sudden  and  broken  man- 
ner, and  I  do  not  find  any  natural  object  which  is 
angular,  and  at  the  same  time  beautiful.  Indeed,  few 
natural  objects  are  entirely  angular.  But  I  think 
those  which  approach  the  most  nearly  to  it  are  the 
ugliest.  I  must  add,  too,  that  so  far  as  I  could  ob- 
serve of  nature,  though  the  varied  line  is  that  alone 
in  which  complete  beauty  is  found,  yet  there  is  no 
particular  line  which  is  always  found  in  the  most 
completely  beautiful,  and  which  is  therefore  beautiful 
in  preference  to  all  other  lines.  At  least  I  never 
could  observe  it. 


SECTION    XVI. 

DELICACY. 

An  air  of  robustness  and  strength  is  very  prejudi- 
cial to  beauty.  An  appearance  of  delicacy,  and  even 
of  fragility,  is  almost  essential  to  it.  Whoever  exam- 
ines the  vegetable  or  animal  creation  will  find  this 
observation  to  be  founded  in  nature.  It  is  not  the 
oak,  the  ash,  or  the  elm,  or  any  of  the  robust  trees 
of  the  forest  which  we  consider  as  beautiful ;  they  are 


196  ON    THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

awful  and  majestic,  they  inspire  a  sort  of  reverence. 
It  is  the  delicate  myrtle,  it  is  the  orange,  it  is  the 
almond,  it  is  the  jasmine,  it  is  the  vine  which  we 
look  on  as  vegetable  beauties.  It  is  the  flowery  spe- 
cies, so  remarkable  for  its  weakness  and  momentary 
duration,  that  gives  us  the  liveliest  idea  of  beauty 
and  elegance.  Among  animals,  the  greyhound  is 
more  beautiful  than  the  mastiff,  and  the  delicacy  of  a 
jennet,  a  barb,  or  an  Arabian  horse,  is  much  more 
amiable  than  the  strength  and  stability  of  some  horses 
of  war  or  carriage.  I  need  here  say  little  of  the  fair 
sex,  where  I  believe  the  point  will  be  easily  allowed 
me.  The  beauty  of  women  is  considerably  owing  to 
their  weakness  or  delicacy,  and  is  even  enhanced  by 
their  timidity,  a  quality  of  mind  analogous  to  it.  I 
would  ]iot  here  be  understood  to  say,  that  weakness 
betraying  very  bad  health  has  any  share  in  beauty ; 
but  the  ill  effect  of  this  is  not  because  it  is  weakness, 
but  because  the  ill  state  of  health,  which  produces 
such  weakness,  alters  the  other  conditions  of  beauty ; 
the  parts  in  such  a  case  collapse,  the  bright  color,  the 
lumen  purpureiim  juventoe  is  gone,  and  the  fine  varia- 
tion is  lost  in  wrinkles,  sudden  breaks,  and  right 
lines. 

SECTION    XVII. 

BEAUTY    IN    COLOR. 

As  to  the  colors  usually  found  in  beautiful  bodies, 
it  may  be  somewhat  difficult  to  ascertain  them,  be- 
cause, in  the  several  parts  of  nature,  there  is  an  infi- 
nlt<3  variety.  However,  even  in  this  variety,  we  may 
mark  out  sometliing  on  wliicli  to  settle.  First,  the 
colors    of  i^eautiful    bodies    must   not   bo    dusky   oi 


ON   THE    SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL  197 

muddy,  but  clean  and  fair.  Secondly,  they  must  not 
be  of  the  strongest  kind.  Those  which  seem  most 
appropriated  to  beauty,  are  the  milder  of  every  sort ; 
light  greens ;  soft  blues  ;  weak  whites  ;  pink  reds  ; 
and  violets.  Thirdly,  if  the  colors  be  strong  and 
vivid,  they  are  always  diversified,  and  the  object  is 
never  of  one  strong  color ;  there  are  almost  always 
such  a  number  of  them  (as  in  variegated  flowers) 
that  the  strength  and  glare  of  each  is  considerably 
abated.  In  a  fine  complexion  there  is  not  only  some 
variety  in  the  coloring,  but  the  colors :  neither  the 
red  nor  the  white  are  strong  and  glaring.  Besides, 
they  are  mixed  in  such  a  manner,  and  with  such  gra 
dations,  that  it  is  impossible  to  fix  the  bounds.  On 
the  same  principle  it  is  that  the  dubious  color  in  the 
necks  and  tails  of  peacocks,  and  about  the  heads  of 
drakes,  is  so  very  agreeable.  In  reality,  the  beauty 
both  of  shape  and  coloring  are  as  nearly  related  as 
we  can  well  suppose  it  oossible  for  things  of  such  dif 
ferent  natures  to  be. 


SECTION    XVIII. 

RECAPITULATION. 

On  the  whole,  the  qualities  of  beauty,  as  they  are 
merely  sensible  qualities,  are  the  following :  First,  to 
be  comparatively  small.  Secondly,  to  be  smooth. 
Thirdly,  to  have  a  variety  in  the  direction  of  the 
parts ;  but,  fourthly,  to  have  those  parts  not  angular, 
but  melted,  as  it  were,  into  eacli  other.  Fifthly,  to 
be  of  a  delicate  frame,  without  any  remarkable  ap- 
pearance of  strength.  Sixthly,  to  have  its  colors 
clear  and  bright,  but  not  very  strong  and  glaring. 


198  ON    THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

Seventhly,  or  if  it  should  have  auy  glaring  color,  to 
have  it  diversified  with  others.  These  are,  I  believe, 
the  properties  on  which  beauty  depends  ;  properties 
that  operate  by  nature,  and  are  less  liable  to  be  al- 
tered by  caprice,  or  confounded  by  a  diversity  of 
tastes,  than  any  other. 


SECTION    XIX. 

THE    PHYSIOGNOMY. 

The  physiognomy  has  a  considerable  share  in  beauty, 
especially  in  that  of  our  own  species.  Tlie  manners 
give  a  certain  determination  to  the  countenance ; 
which,  being  observed  to  correspond  pretty  regularly 
with  them,  is  capable  of  joining  the  effect  of  certain 
agreeal)le  qualities  of  the  mind  to  those  of  the  body. 
So  that  to  form  a  finished  human  beauty,  and  to  give 
it  its  full  influence,  the  face  must  be  expressive  of 
such  gentle  and  amiable  qualities,  as  correspond  with 
the  softness,  smoothness,  and  delicacy  of  the  outward 
form. 

SECTION    XX. 

THE    EYE. 

I  HAVE  hitherto  purposely  omitted  to  speak  of  the 
eye^  which  has  so  great  a  share  in  the  beauty  of  the 
aiihnal  creatioji,  as  it  did  not  fall  so  easily  under  the 
foregoing  heads,  though  in  fact  it  is  reducible  to  the 
same  j)rincij»lcs.  1  think,  then,  that  the  beauty  of 
the  eye  consists,  first,  in  its  clcaniois ;  what  colored 
eye  sluiU  please  most,  depends  a  good  deal  on  })articu- 
liir  fancies;  but  none,  arc  pleased  with  an  eye  whoso 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       199 

water  (to  use  that  term)  is  dull  and  muddy.*  We 
are  pleased  with  the  eye  in  this  view,  on  the  principle 
upon  which  we  like  diamonds,  clear  water,  glass,  and 
such  like  transparent  substances.  Secondly,  the  mo- 
tion of  the  eye  contributes  to  its  beauty,  by  contin- 
ually shifting  its  du^ection ;  but  a  slow  and  languid 
•  motion  is  more  beautiful  than  a  brisk  one ;  the  latter 
is  enlivening ;  the  former  lovely.  Thirdly,  with  re- 
gard to  the  union  of  the  eye  with  the  neighboring 
parts,  it  is  to  hold  the  same  rule  that  is  given  of  other 
beautiful  ones;  it  is  not  to  make  a  strong  deviation 
from  the  line  of  the  neighboring  parts  ;  nor  to  verge 
into  any  exact  geometrical  figure.  Besides  all  this, 
the  eye  affects,  as  it  is  expressive  of  some  qualities  of 
the  mind,  and  its  principal  power  generally  arises 
from  this  ;  so  that  what  we  have  just  said  of  the  phys- 
iognomy is  applicable  here. 


SECTION   XXI. 

UGLINESS. 

It  may  perhaps  appear  like  a  sort  of  repetition  of 
what  we  have  before  said,  to  insist  here  upon  the  na- 
ture of  ugliness  ;  as  I  imagine  it  to  be  in  all  respects 
the  opposite  to  those  qualities  which  we  have  laid 
down  for  the  constituents  of  beauty.  But  though 
ugliness  be  the  opposite  to  beauty,  it  is  not  the  oppo- 
site to  proportion  and  fitness.  For  it  is  possible  that 
a  thing  may  be  very  ugly  with  any  proportions,  and 
with  a  perfect  fitness  to  any  uses.  Ugliness  I  ima- 
gine likewise  to  be  consistent  enough  with  an  idea  of 
the  sublime.     But  I  would  by  no  means  insinuate 

*  Part  IV   sect.  25 


200  ON  THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

that  Ugliness  of  itself  is  a  sublime  idea,  unless  united 
with  such  qualities  as  excite  a  strong  terror. 


SECTION    XXII. 

GRACE.  I 

Gracefulness  is  an  idea  not  very  different  from 
beauty  ;  it  consists  in  much  the  same  things.  Grace- 
fulness is  an  idea  belonging  to  posture  and  motion. 
In  both  these,  to  be  graceful,  it  is  requisite  that  there 
be  no  appearance  of  difficulty ;  there  is  required  a 
small  inflection  of  the  body  ;  and  a  composure  of  the 
parts  in  such  a  manner,  as  not  to  incumber  each 
other,  not  to  appear  di\ided  by  sharp  and  sudden 
angles.  In  this  case,  this  roundness,  this  delicacy  of 
attitude  and  motion,  it  is  that  all  the  magic  of  grace 
consists,  and  what  is  called  its^g  ne  spai  quoi;  as  will 
be  obvious  to  any  observer,  who  considers  attentively 
the  Venus  de  Medicis,  the  Antinous  or  any  statue 
generally  allowed  to  be  graceful  in  a  high  degree. 


SECTION    XXIII. 

ELEGANCE    AND    SPECIODSNESS. 

When  any  body  is  composed  of  parts  smooth  and 
polished,  without  pressing  upon  each  other,  without 
showing  any  ruggedncss  or  confusion,  and  at  the 
same  time  alTcctiiig  some  regular  shape,  I  call  it  ele- 
gant.  It  is  closely  allied  to  tlic  beautiful,  didcring 
from  it  only  in  this  I'i'qxJariti/  ;  which,  liowover,  as  it 
niakcs  a  very  material  dillbi-iince  in  the  atrection  pro- 
duced, may  very  well  constitute  anotlier  species.    Un- 


ON    THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL.  201 

der  this  head  I  rank  those  delicate  and  regular  works 
of  art,  that  imitate  no  determinate  object  in  nature, 
as  elegant  buildings,  and  pieces  of  furniture.  When 
any  object  partakes  of  the  above-mentioned  qualities, 
or  of  those  of  beautiful  bodies,  and  is  withal  of  great 
dimensions,  it  is  full  as  remote  from  the  idea  of  mere 
beauty  ;  I  call  it  fine  or  specious. 


SECTION    XXIV. 

THE    BEAUTIFUL    IN    FEELING. 

The  foregoing  description  of  beauty,  so  far  as  it  is 
taken  in  by  the  eye,  may  be  greatly  illustrated  by  de- 
scribing the  nature  of  objects,  which  produce  a  similar 
effect  through  the  touch.  This  I  call  the  beautiful  in 
feeling.  It  corresponds  wonderfully  with  what  causes 
the  same  species  of  pleasure  to  the  sight.  There  is  a 
chain  in  all  our  sensations  ;  they  are  all  but  different 
sorts  of  feelings  calculated  to  be  affected  by  various 
sorts  of  objects,  but  all  to  be  affected  after  the  same 
manner.  All  bodies  that  are  pleasant  to  the  touch,  are 
so  by  the  slightness  of  the  resistance  they  make.  Re- 
sistance is  eitlier  to  motion  along  the  surface,  or  to  the 
pressure  of  the  parts  on  one  another :  if  the  former  be 
slight,  we  call  the  body  smooth  ;  if  the  latter,  soft. 
The  chief  pleasure  we  receive  by  feeling,  is  in  the  one 
or  the  other  of  these  qualities  ;  and  if  there  be  a  com- 
bination of  both,  eur  pleasure  is  greatly  increased. 
This  is  so  plain,  that  it  is  rather  more  fit  to  illustrate 
other  things,  than  to  be  illustrated  itself  by  an  example. 
The  next  source  of  pleasure  in  this  sense,  as  in  every 
other,  is  tne  continually  presenting  somewhat  new ; 
and  we  find  tliat  bodies  which  continually  vary  their 


202  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUIi. 

surface,  are  much  the  most  pleasant  or  beautiful  to  the 
feelmg,  as  any  one  that  pleases  may  experience.  The 
third  property  in  such  objects  is,  that  though  the  sur- 
face continually  varies  its  direction,  it  never  varies  it 
suddenly.  The  application  of  anything  sudden,  even 
though  the  impression  itself  have  little  or  nothing  of 
violence,  is  disagreeable.  The  quick  application  of  a 
finger  a  little  warmer  or  colder  than  usual,  without  no- 
tice, makes  us  start ;  a  slight  tap  on  the  shoulder,  not 
expected,  has  the  same  effect.  Hence  it  is  that  angu- 
lar bodies,  bodies  that  suddenly  vary  the  direction  of 
the  outline,  afford  so  little  pleasure  to  the  feeling. 
Every  such  change  is  a  sort  of  climbing  or  falling  in 
miniature  ;  so  that  squares,  triangles,  and  other  angu- 
lar figures  are  neither  beautiful  to  the  sight  nor  feeling. 
Whoever  compares  his  state  of  mind,  on  feeling  soft, 
smooth,  variated,  unangular  bodies,  with  that  in  which 
he  finds  liimself,  on  the  view  of  a  beautiful  object,  will 
perceive  a  very  striking  analogy  in  the  effects  of  both ; 
and  which  may  go  a  good  way  towards  discovering 
their  common  cause.  Feeling  and  sight,  in  this  re- 
spect, differ  in  but  a  few  points.  The  touch  takes  in 
the  pleasure  of  softness,  which  is  not  primarily  an  ob- 
ject of  siglit ;  the  sight,  on  the  other  hand,  compre- 
hends color,  which  can  hardly  be  made  perceptible  to 
the  touch:  the  touch,  again,  has  the  advantage  in  a 
new  idea  of  pleasure  resulting  from  a  moderate  degree 
of  warmth ;  but  the  eye  triumplis  in  the  infinite  extent 
and  multij)licity  of  its  objects.  But  there  is  such  a 
similitude  in  the  pleasures  of  these  senses,  that  I  am 
ai)t  to  fancy,  if  it  were  possible  tliat  one  might  discern 
color  by  feeling  (as  it  is  said  some  blind  men  liavo 
done)  that  tlie  siirae  colors,  and  the  same  disposition 
of  coloring,  which  arc  found  beautiful  to  the  sight, 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUIIFUL.  205 

would  be  found  likewise  most  grateful  to  the  touch. 
But,  setting  aside  conjectures,  let  us  pass  to  the  other 
sense ;  of  hearing. 


SECTION    XXV. 

THE    BEAUTIFUL    IN    SOUNDS. 

In  this  sense  we  find  an  equal  aptitude  to  be  af 
fected  in  a  soft  and  delicate  manner;  and  how  lar 
sweet  or  beautiful  sounds  agree  with  our  descriptions 
of  beauty  in  other  senses,  the  experience  of  every  one 
must  decide.  Milton  has  described  this  species  of 
music  in  one  of  his  juvenile  poems.*  I  need  not  say 
that  Milton  was  perfectly  well  versed  in  that  art ;  and 
that  no  man  had  a  finer  ear,  with  a  happier  manner 
of  expressing  the  affections  of  one  sense  by  metaphors 
taken  from  another.    The  description  is  as  follows :  — 

"  And  ever  against  eating  cares. 
Lap  me  in  soft  Lydian  airs  ; 
In  notes  with  many  a  winding  bout 
Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out ; 
With  wanton  heed,  and  giddy  cunning, 
The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running ; 
Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  tie 
The  hidden  soul  of  harmony." 

Let  US  parallel  this  with  the  softness,  the  winding 
surface,  the  unbroken  continuance,  the  easy  grada- 
tion of  the  beautiful  in  other  things  ;  and  all  the  di- 
versities of  the  several  senses,  with  all  their  several 
affections,  will  rather  help  to  throw  lights  from  one 
another  to  finish  one  clear,  consistent  idea  of  the 
whole,  than  to  obscure  it  by  their  intricacy  and  vari- 
ety. 

*  L'  Allegro. 


204  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

To  the  above-mentioned  description  I  shall  add  one 
or  two  remarks.  The  first  is ;  that  the  beautiful  in 
music  will  not  bear  that  loudness  and  strength  of 
sounds,  which  may  be  used  to  raise  other  passions  ; 
nor  notes  which  are  shrill,  or  harsh,  or  deep ;  it 
agrees  best  with  such  as  are  clear,  even,  smooth, 
and  weak.  The  second  is ;  that  great  variety,  and 
quick  transitions  from  one  measure  or  tone  to  an- 
other, are  contrary  to  the  genius  of  the  beautiful  in 
music.  Such*  transitions  often  excite  mirth,  or 
other  sudden  or  tumultuous  passions  ;  but  not  that 
sinking,  that  melting,  that  languor,  which  is  the 
characteristical  effect  of  the  beautiful  as  it  regards 
every  sense.  The  passion  excited  by  beauty  is  in 
fact  nearer  to  a  species  of  melancholy,  than  to  jollity 
and  mirth.  I  do  not  here  mean  to  confine  music  to 
any  one  species  of  notes,  or  tones,  neither  is  it  an  art 
in  which  I  can  say  I  have  any  great  skill.  My  sole 
design  in  this  remark  is  to  settle  a  consistent  idea  of 
beauty.  The  infinite  variety  of  the  affections  of  the 
soul  will  suggest  to  a  good  head,  and  skilful  ear,  a 
variety  of  such  sounds  as  are  fitted  to  raise  them.  It 
can  be  no  prejudice  to  this,  to  clear  and  distinguish 
some  few  particulars  that  belong  to  the  same  class, 
and  are  consistent  with  each  other,  from  the  immcnso 
crowd  of  different  and  sometimes  contradictory  ideas, 
that  rank  vulgarly  under  the  standard  of  beauty. 
And  of  these  it  is  my  intention  to  mark  such  only  of 
the  leading  points  as  show  the  conformity  of  the 
sense  of  hearing  with  all  tlie  other  senses,  in  the  arti- 
cle of  Ihcir  pleasures. 

*  "  I  ne'er  am  merry,  wlicn  I  hear  sweet  music." 

SlIAKBBPEARB. 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  205 

SECTION    XXVI. 

TASTE    AND    SMELL. 

This  general  agreement  of  the  senses  is  yet  more 
evident  on  minutely  considering  those  of  taste  and 
smell.  We  metaphorically  apply  the  idea  of  sweet- 
ness to  sights  and  sounds ;  but  as  the  qualities  of 
bodies  by  which  they  are  fitted  to  excite  either  pleas- 
ure or  pain  in  these  senses  arc  not  so  obvious  as  they 
tire  in  the  others,  we  shall  refer  an  explanation  of 
tlieir  analogy,  which  is  a  very  close  one,  to  that  part 
wherein  we  come  to  consider  the  common  efficient 
cause  of  beauty,  as  it  regards  all  the  senses.  I  do 
not  think  anything  better  fitted  to  establish  a  clear 
and  settled  idea  of  visual  beauty  than  this  way  of 
examining  the  similar  pleasures  of  other  senses  ;  for 
one  part  is  sometimes  clear  in  one  of  the  senses  that 
is  more  obscure  in  another  ;  and  where  there  is  a 
clear  concurrence  of  all,  we  may  with  more  certainty 
speak -of  any  one  of  them.  By  this  means,  they  bear 
witneso  to  each  other ;  nature  is,  as  it  were,  scruti- 
nized ;  and  we  report  nothing  of  her  but  what  we 
receive  from  her  own  information. 


SECTION    XXVII. 

THE    SFBLTME    AND    BEAUTIFUL    COMPARED. 

On  closing  this  general  view  of  beauty,  it  naturally 
occurs  that  we  should  compare  it  with  the  sublime  ; 
and  in  this  comparison  there  appears  a  remarkable 
contrast.  For  siiblime  objects  are  vast  in  their  di- 
mensions, beautiful  ones  comparatively  small ;  beauty 


206  ON  THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

should  be  smooth  and  polished  ;  the  great,  rugged 
and  negligent :  beauty  should  shun  the  right  line, 
yet  deviate  from  it  insensibly ;  the  great  in  many 
cases  loves  the  right  line ;  and  when  it  deviates,  it 
often  makes  a  strong  deviation :  beauty  should  not 
be  obscure  ;  the  great  ought  to  be  dark  and  gloomy  : 
beauty  should  be  light  and  delicate  ;  the  great  ought 
to  be  solid,  and  even  massive.  They  are  indeed  ideas 
of  a  very  different  nature,  one  being  founded  on  pain, 
the  other  on  pleasure ;  and,  however  they  may  vary 
afterwards  from  the  direct  nature  of  their  causes,  yet 
these  causes  keep  up  an  eternal  distinction  between 
them,  a  distinction  never  to  be  forgotten  by  any 
whose  business  it  is  to  affect  the  passions.  In  the 
infinite  variety  of  natural  combinations,  we  must 
expect  to  find  the  qualities  of  things  the  most  re- 
mote imaginable  from  each  other  united  in  the 
same  object.  We  must  expect  also  to  find  combinor 
tions  of  the  same  kind  in  the  works  of  art.  But 
when  we  consider  the  power  of  an  object  upon  our 
passions,  we  must  know  that  when  anything  is  in- 
tended to  affect  the  mind  by  the  force  of  some  pre- 
dominant property,  the  affection  produced  is  like  to 
be  the  more  uniform  and  perfect,  if  all  the  other 
properties  or  qualities  of  the  object  be  of  the  same 
nature,  and  tending  to  the  same  design  as  the  prin- 
cipal. 

'■  If  black  and,  white  blend,  soften,  and  unite 
A  thousand  ways,  are  there  no  black  and  white  ?  " 

If  the  qualities  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful  are  some- 
times found  united,  docs  this  prov^  that  they  are  the 
same  ;  does  it  prove  that  they  are  any  way  allied  ; 
docs  it  prove  even  that  llicy  are  not  opjiosite  and 
contradictory?     IMack  and   white  may  soften,  may 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  207 

blend ;  but  they  are  not  therefore  the  same.  Nor, 
when  they  are  so  softened  and  blended  with  each 
other,  or  with  different  colors,  is  the  power  of  black 
as  black,  or  of  white  as  white,  so  strong  as  when  each 
stands  uniform  and  distinguished. 


208       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 


PART   IV. 

SECTION    I, 

OP   THE    EFFICIENT    CAUSE    OF    THE    SUBLIME    AND 
BEAUTIFUL. 

When  I  say,  I  intend  to  inquire  into  the  efficient 
cause  of  sublimity  and  beauty,  I  would  not  be  under- 
stood to  say,  tliat  I  can  come  to  the  ultimate  cause. 
I  do  not  pretend  that  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  explain 
why  certain  affections  of  the  body  produce  such  a  dis- 
tinct emotion  of  mind,  and  no  other  ;  or  why  the  body 
is  at  all  affected  by  the  mind,  or  the  mind  by  the  body. 
A  little  thought  will  show  this  to  be  impossible.  But 
I  conceive,  if  we  can  discover  what  affections  of  the 
mind  produce  certain  emotions  of  the  body  ;  and  what 
distinct  feelings  and  qualities  of  body  shall  produce 
certain  determinate  passions  in  the  mind,  and  no 
otliers,  I  fancy  a  great  deal  Avill  be  done ;  something 
not  unuseful  towards  a  distinct  knowledge  of  our  pas- 
sions, so  far  at  least  as  we  have  them  at  present  under 
our  consideration.  This  is  all,  I  believe,  we  can  do. 
If  we  could  advance  a  step  farther,  difficulties  would 
still  remain,  as  we  sliould  be  still  equally  distant  from 
the  first  cause.  When  Newton  first  discovered  the 
property  of  attraction,  and  settled  its  laws,  he  found 
it  served  very  well  to  explain  several  of  the  most 
remarkaljlc  phenomena  in  nature ;  but  yet,  with  ref- 
erence to  the  general  system  of  things,  he  could  con- 
sider attraction  but  as  an  effect,  whose  cause  at  tliat 
time  ho  did  not  altenij)t  to  trace.  But  when  lie  af- 
terwards began  to  account  for  it  by  a  subtle  elastic 


ON   THE    SUBLIMP]    AND    BEAUTIFUX,.  209 

ether,  this  great  man  (if  in  so  great  a  man  it  be  not 
impious  to  discover  anything  like  a  blemish)  seemed 
to  have  quitted  his  usual  cautious  manner  of  philoso- 
phizing;  since,  perhaps,  allowing  all  that  has  been 
advanced  on  this  subject  to  be  sufficiently  proved,  I 
think  it  leaves  us  with  as  many  difficulties  as  it  found 
us.  That  great  chain  of  causes,  which,  linking  one 
to  another,  even  to  the  throne  of  God  himself,  can 
never  be  unravelled  by  any  industry  of  ours.  When 
we  go  but  one  step  beyond  the  immediate  sensible 
qualities  of  things,  we  go  out  of  our  depth.  All  we 
do  after  is  but  a  faint  struggle,  that  shows  we  are  in 
an  element  which  does  not  belong  to  us.  So  that 
when  I  speak  of  cause,  and  efficient  cause,  I  only 
mean  certain  affections  of  the  mind,  that  cause  cer- 
tain changes  in  the  body ;  or  certain  powers  and 
properties  in  bodies,  that  work  a  change  in  the  mind. 
As,  if  I  were  to  explain  the  motion  of  a  body  falling 
to  the  ground,  I  would  say  it  was  caused  by  gravity ; 
and  I  would  endeavor  to  show  after  what  manner 
this  power  operated,  without  attempting  to  show  why 
it  operated  in  this  manner :  or,  if  I  were  to  explain 
the  effects  of  bodies  striking  one  another  by  the  com- 
mon laws  of  percussion,  I  should  not  endeavor  to  ex- 
plain how  motion  itself  is  communicated. 


SECTION    II. 

ASSOCIATION. 

It  is  no  small  bar  in  the  way  of  our  inquiry  into  the 
cause  of  our  passions,  that  the  occasions  of  many  of 
them  are  given,  and  that  their  governing  motions  are 
communicated  at  a  time  when  we  have  not  capacity 

VOL.  I.  14 


210  ON   THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

to  reflect  on  them ;  at  a  time  of  which  all  sort  of 
memory  is  worn  out  of  our  minds.  For  besides  such 
tilings  as  affect  us  in  various  manners,  according  to 
their  natural  powers,  there  are  associations  made  at 
that  early  season,  which  we  find  it  very  hard  after- 
wards to  distinguish  from  natural  effects.  Not  to 
mention  the  unaccountable  antipathies  which  we  find 
in  many  persons,  we  all  find  it  impossible  to  remem- 
ber when  a  steep  became  more  terrible  than  a  plai  ii ; 
or  fire  or  water  more  terrible  than  a  clod  of  earth ; 
though  all  these  are  very  probably  either  conclusions 
from  experience,  or  arising  from  the  premonitions  of 
others ;  and  some  of  them  impressed,  in  all  likeli- 
hood, pretty  late.  But  as  it  must  be  allowed  that 
many  things  affect  us  after  a  certain  manner,  not  by 
any  natural  powers  they  have  for  that  purpose,  but 
by  association  ;  so  it  would  be  absurd,  on  the  other 
hand,  to  say  that  all  things  affect  us  by  association 
only  ;  since  some  things  must  have  been  originally 
and  naturally  agreeable  or  disagreeable,  from  which 
the  others  derive  their  associated  powers  ;  and  it 
would  be,  I  fancy,  to  little  purpose  to  look  for  the 
cause  of  our  passions  in  association,  until  we  fail  of 
it  in  the  natural  properties  of  things. 


SECTION    III. 

CADSK  OF  PAIN  AND  FEAR. 

I  HAVE  before  observed,*  tliat  whatever  is  qualified 
to  cause  terror  is  a  foundation  capable  of  the  sub- 
lime ;  to  which  I  add,  tliat  not  only  tboso,  but  many 
things    from    wliicli   we  cannot  probably  apj)rehend 

*  Part  I.  sect.  7. 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  211 

any  danger,  have  a  similar  effect,  because  they  ope- 
rate in  a  similar  manner.  I  observed,  too,*  that  what- 
ever produces  pleasure,  positive  and  original  pleas- 
ure, is  fit  to  have  beauty  engrafted  on  it.  Therefore, 
to  clear  up  the  nature  of  these  qualities,  it  may  be 
necessary  to  explain  the  nature  of  pain  and  pleasure 
on  which  they  depend.  A  man  who  suffers  under 
violent  bodily  pain,  (I  suppose  the  most  violent,  be- 
cause the  effect  may  be  the  more  obvious,)  I  say  a 
man  in  great  pain  has  his  teeth  set,  his  eyebrows  are 
violently  contracted,  his  forehead  is  wrmkled,  his 
eyes  are  dragged  inwards,  and  rolled  with  great 
vehemence,  his  hair  stands  on  end,  the  voice  is 
forced  out  in  short  shrieks  and  groans,  and  the 
whole  fabric  totters.  Fear  or  terror,  which  is  an 
apprehension  of  pain  or  death,  exhibits  exactly  the 
same  effects,  approaching  in  violence  to  those  just 
mentioned,  in  proportion  to  the  nearness  of  the 
cause,  and  the  weakness  of  the  subject.  This  is 
not  only  so  in  the  human  species :  but  I  have  more 
than  once  observed  in  dogs,  under  an  apprehension 
of  punishment,  that  they  have  writhed  their  bodies, 
and  yelped,  and  howled,  as  if  they  had  actually  felt  the 
blows.  From  hence  I  conclude,  that  pain  and  fear 
act  upon  the  same  parts  of  the  body,  and  in  the  same 
manner,  though  somewhat  differing  in  degree  :  that 
pain  and  fear  consist  in  an  unnatural  tension  of  the 
nerves ;  that  this  is  sometimes  accompanied  with 
an  unnatural  strength,  which  sometimes  suddenly 
changes  into  an  extraordinary  weakness ;  that  these 
effects  often  come  on  alternately,  and  are  sometimes 
mixed  with  each  other.  Tliis  is  the  nature  of  all 
convulsive  agitations,  especially  in  weaker  subjects, 

*  Part  I.  sect.  10. 


212  ON    THE    SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

which  are  the  most  liable  to  the  severest  impressions 
of  pain  and  fear.  The  only  difference  between  pain 
and  terror  is,  that  things  which  cause  pain  operate 
on  the  mind  by  the  intervention  of  the  body  ;  whore- 
as  things  that  cause  terror  generally  affect  the  bod- 
ily organs  by  the  operation  of  the  mind  suggesting 
the  danger ;  but  both  agreeing,  either  primarily  or 
secondarily,  in  producing  a  tension,  contraction,  or 
violent  emotion  of  the  nerves,*  they  agree  likewise 
in  everything  else.  For  it  appears  very  clearly  to 
me  from  this,  as  well  as  from  many  other  examples, 
that  when  the  body  is  disposed,  by  any  means  what- 
soever, to  such  emotions  as  it  would  acquire  by  the 
means  of  a  certain  passion  ;  it  will  of  itself  excite 
something  very  like  that  passion  in  the  mind. 


SECTION    IV. 

CONTINUED. 

To  this  purpose  Mr.  Spon,  in  his  "  R^cherches  d'An- 
tiquitd,"  gives  us  a  curious  story  of  the  celebrated  phys- 
iognomist Campaiiella.  This  man,  it  seems,  had  not 
only  made  very  accurate  observations  on  human  faces, 
but  was  very  expert  in  mimicking  such  as  were  any 
way  remarkable.  When  he  had  a  mind  to  penetrate 
into  tlie  inclinations  of  those  lie  had  to  deal  with,  he 
composed  his  face,  liis  gesture,  and  liis  whole  body,  as 
nearly  as  lie  could  into  tlie  exact  similitude  of  the  per- 

*  I  do  not  licrc  enter  into  the  question  debated  ainonp  physiolo- 
gists, whellier  pain  be  tlie  etlfct  oC  a  contraction,  or  a  tension  of  the 
nerves.  Either  will  servo  my  pnr|)ose  ;  for  by  tensitni,  1  mean  no 
more  than  a  violent  pulling  of  the  librcs  which  compose  any  muscle 
or  membrane,  iu  whatever  way  this  is  done. 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       213 

son  he  intended  to  examine ;  and  then  carefully  ob- 
served what  turn  of  mind  he  seemed  to  acquire  by  this 
change.  So  tliat,  says  my  author,  he  was  able  to  en- 
ter into  the  dispositions  and  thoughts  of  people  as  ef- 
fectually as  if  he  had  been  changed  into  the  very  men. 
I  have  often  observed,  that  on  mimicking  the  looks  and 
gestures  of  angry,  or  placid,  or  frighted,  or  daring  men, 
I  have  involuntarily  found  my  mind  turned  to  that  pas- 
sion, whose  appearance  I  endeavored  to  imitate  ;  nay,  I 
am  convinced  it  is  hard  to  avoid  it,  though  one  strove 
to  separate  the  passion  from  its  correspondent  gestures. 
Our  minds  and  bodies  are  so  closely  and  intimately 
connected,  that  one  is  incapable  of  pain  or  pleasure 
without  the  other.  Campanella,  of  whom  we  have 
been  speaking,  could  so  abstract  his  attention  from 
any  sufferings  of  his  body,  that  he  was  able  to  endure 
the  rack  itself  without  much  pain  ;  and  in  lesser  pains 
everybody  must  have  observed  that,  when  we  can  em- 
ploy our  attention  on  anything  else,  the  pain  has  been 
for  a  time  suspended :  on  the  other  hand,  if  by  any 
means  the  body  is  indisposed  to  perform  such  gestures, 
or  to  be  stimulated  into  such  emotions  as  any  passion 
usually  produces  in  it,  that  passion  itself  never  can 
arise,  though  its  cause  should  be  never  so  strongly  in 
action ;  though  it  should  be  merely  mental,  and  im- 
mediately aifocting  none  of  the  senses.  As  an  opiate, 
or  spirituous  liquors,  shall  suspend  the  operation  of 
grief,  or  fear,  or  anger,  in  spite  of  all  our  efforts  to 
the'  contrary  ;  and  this  by  inducing  in  the  body  a  dis- 
position contrary  to  that  which  it  receives  from  these 
passions. 


21.1  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

SECTION    V. 

HOW    THE    SUBLIME    IS    PRODUCED. 

Having  considered  terror  as  producing  an  unnatu- 
ral tension  and  certain  violent  emotions  of  the  nerves ; 
it  easily  follows,  from  what  we  have  just  said,  that 
whatever  is  fitted  to  produce  such  a  tension  must  be 
productive  of  a  passion  similar  to  terror,*  and  conse- 
quently must  be  a  source  of  the  sublime,  though  it 
should  have  no  idea  of  danger  connected  with  it.  So 
that  little  remains  towards  showing  the  cause  of  the 
sublime,  but  to  show  that  the  instances  we  have  given 
of  it  in  the  second  part  relate  to  such  things,  as  are 
fitted  by  nature  to  produce  this  sort  of  tension,  either 
l)y  the  primary  operation  of  the  mind  or  the  body. 
With  regard  to  such  things  as  affect  by  the  associated 
idea  of  danger,  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  they 
produce  terror,  and  act  by  some  modification  of  that 
passion  ;  and  that  terror,  when  sufficiently  violent, 
raises  the  emotions  of  the  body  just  mentioned,  can 
as  little  be  doubted.  But  if  the  sublime  is  built  on 
terror  or  some  passion  like  it,  which  has  pain  for  its 
object,  it  is  previously  proper  to  inquire  how  any  spe- 
cies of  delight  can  be  derived  from  a  cause  so  appa- 
rently contrary  to  it.  I  say  delight^  because,  as  I  have 
often  remarked,  it  is  very  evidently  different  in  its 
cause,  and  in  its  own  nature,  from  actual  and  posi- 
tive pleasure. 

*  Part  II.  sect.  2. 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  215 

SECTION   VL 

HOW  PAIN    CAN   BE   A    CAUSE    OF   DELIGHT. 

Providence  has  so  ordered  it,  that  a  state  of  rest 
and  inaction,  however  it  may  flatter  our  indolence, 
should  be  productive  of  many  inconveniences  ;  that  it 
should  generate  such  disorders,  as  may  force  us  to 
have  recourse  to  some  labor,  as  a  thing  absolutely 
requisite  to  make  us  pass  our  lives  with  tolerable  sat- 
isfaction ;  for  the  nature  of  rest  is  to  suffer  all  the 
parts  of  our  bodies  to  fall  into  a  relaxation,  that  not 
only  disables  the  members  from  performing  their  func- 
tions, but  takes  away  the  vigorous  tone  of  fibre  which 
is  requisite  for  carrying  on  the  natural  and  necessary 
secretions.  At  the  same  time,  that  in  this  languid  in- 
active state,  the  nerves  are  more  liable  to  the  most 
horrid  convulsions,  than  when  they  are  sufficiently 
braced  and  strengthened.  Melancholy,  dejection,  de- 
spair, and  often  self-murder,  is  the  consequence  of  the 
gloomy  view  we  take  of  things  in  this  relaxed  state 
of  body.  The  best  remedy  for  all  these  evils  is  exer- 
cise or  labor  ;  and  labor  is  a  surmounting  of  difficulties^ 
an  exertion  of  the  contracting  power  of  the  muscles ; 
and  as  such  resembles  pain,  which  consists  in  tension 
or  contraction,  in  everything  but  degree.  Labor  is 
not  only  requisite  to  preserve  the  coarser  organs,  in  a 
state  fit  for  their  functions ;  but  it  is  equally  neces- 
sary to  these  finer  and  more  delicate  organs,  on  which, 
and  by  which,  the  imagination  and  perhaps  the  other 
mental  powers  act.  Since  it  is  probable,  that  not 
only  the  inferior  parts  of  the  soul,  as  the  passions  are 
called,  but  the  understanding  itself  makes  use  of 
some   fine   corporeal   instruments  in   its   operation  ; 


216  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

tliough  what  they  are,  and  where  they  are,  may  be 
somewhat  hard  to  settle :  but  that  it  does  mak$  use 
of  such,  appears  from  hence  ;  that  a  long  exercise  of 
the  mental  powers  induces  a  remarkable  lassitude  of 
the  whole  body ;  and  on  the  other  hand,  that  great 
bodily  labor,  or  pain,  weakens  and  sometimes  actually 
destroys  the  mental  faculties.  Now,  as  a  due  exer- 
cise is  essential  to  the  coarse  muscular  parts  of  the 
constitution,  and  that  without  this  rousing  they  would 
become  languid  and  diseased,  the  very  same  rule  holds 
with  regard  to  those  liner  parts  we  have  mentioned  ; 
to  have  them  in  proper  order,  they  must  be  shaken 
and  worked  to  a  proper  degree. 


SECTION    VII. 

EXEKCISE  NECESSARY  FOR  THE  FINER  ORGANS. 

As  common  labor,  which  is  a  mode  of  pain,  is  the 
exercise  of  the  grosser,  a  mode  of  terror  is  the  exer- 
cise of  the  finer  parts  of  the  system  ;  and  if  a  certain 
mode  of  pain  be  of  such  a  nature  as  to  act  upon  the 
eye  or  the  ear,  as  they  are  the  most  delicate  organs, 
the  affection  approaches  more  nearly  to  that  which  has 
a  mental  cause.  In  all  tlicse  cases,  if  the  pain  and 
terror  arc  so  modified  as  not  to  be  actually  noxious ; 
if  the  pain  is  not  carried  to  violence,  and  the  terror  is 
not  conversant  about  the  present  destruction  of  the 
j)erson,  as  these  emotions  clear  the  ])arts,  wliether 
fine  or  gross,  of  a  dangerous  and  lioiihkisome  incum- 
brance, tlicy  are  ca|)abli!  of  pi-oducing  delight;  not 
pleasure,  but  a  sort  of  delightful  lioi-i-oi',  a  sort  of 
tranquillity  tinged  with  terror;  which,  as  it  belongs 
to  self-preservation,  is  one  of  the  strong(!st  of  nil  the 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  217 

passions.  Its  object  is  the  sublime.  *Its  highest  de- 
gree I  call  astonishment ;  the  subordinate  degrees  are 
awe,  reverence,  and  respect,  which,  by  the  very  ety- 
mology of  the  words,  show  from  what  source  they  are 
derived,  and  how  they  stand  distinguished  from  posi- 
tive pleasure. 

SECTION    VIII. 

WHY   THINGS   NOT   DANGEROUS    SOMETIMES    PRODUCE   A 
PASSION    LIKE    TERROR. 

k.  MODE  of  terror  or  pain  is  always  the  cause  of  the 
sublime. t  For  terror  or  associated  danger,  the  fore- 
going explication  is,  I  believe,  sufficient.  It  will  re- 
quire something  more  trouble  to  show,  that  such  ex- 
amples a^  I  have  given  of  the  sublime  in  the  second 
part  are  capable  of  producing  a  mode  of  pain,  and  of 
being  thus  allied  to  terror,  and  to  be  accounted  for 
on  the  same  principles.  And  first  of  such  objects  as 
are  great  in  their  dimensions.  I  speak  of  visual  ob- 
jects. 

SECTION    IX. 

WHT    VISUAL    OBJECTS    OF    GREAT    DIMENSIONS    ARE    SUB- 
LIME. 

Vision  is  performed  by  having  a  picture,  formed  by 
liie  rays  of  light  which  are  reflected  from  the  object, 
painted  in  one  piece,  instantaneously,  on  the  retina, 
or  last  nervous  part  of  the  eye.  Or,  according  to 
others,  there  is  but  one  point  of  any  object  painted  on 
the  eye  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be  perceived  at  once  ; 
but  by  moving  the  eye,  we  gather  up,  with  great  ce- 

*  Part  n.  sect.  1.    t  Part  I.  sect.  7.  Part  II.  sect.  2. 


218       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

lerity,  the  several  parts  of  the  object,  so  as  to  form 
one  uniform  piece.  If  the  former  opinion  be  allowed, 
it  will  be  considered,*  that  though  all  the  light  re- 
flected from  a  large  body  should  strike  the  eye  in  one 
instant ;  yet  we  must  suppose  that  the  body  itself  is 
formed  of  a  vast  number  of  distinct  points,  every  one 
of  which,  or  the  ray  from  exerj  one,  makes  an  im- 
pression on  the  retina.  So  that,  though  the  image 
of  one  point  should  cause  but  a  small  tension  of  this 
membrane,  another,  and  another,  and  another  stroke, 
must  in  their  progress  cause  a  very  great  one,  until 
it  arrives  at  last  to  the  highest  degree  ;  and  the  whole 
capacity  of  the  eye,  vibrating  in  all  its  parts,  must 
approach  near  to  the  nature  of  what  causes  pain,  and 
consequently  must  produce  an  idea  of  the  subhme. 
Again,  if  we  take  it,  that  one  point  only  of  an  object 
is  distinguishable  at  once ;  the  matter  will  amount 
nearly  to  the  same  thing,  or  rather  it  will  make  the 
origin  of  the  sublime  from  greatness  of  dimension  yet 
clearer.  For  if  but  one  point  is  observed  at  once,  the 
eye  must  traverse  the  vast  space  of  such  bodies  with 
great  quickness,  and  consequently  the  fine  nerves  and 
muscles  destined  to  the  motion  of  that  part  must  be 
very  much  strained  ;  and  their  great  sensibility  must 
make  them  highly  alfected  by  this  straining.  Be- 
sides, it  signifies  just  nothing  to  the  ellcct  produced, 
whether  a  body  has  its  parts  connected  and  makes  its 
impression  at  once  ;  or,  making  l)iit  one  impression 
of  a  j)oint  at  a  time,  it  causes  a  succession  of  tiie 
same  or  others  so  quickly  as  to  make  them  seem 
united  ;  as  is  evident  from  tlie  common  effect  of 
whirling  about  a  lighted  torch  oi-  piece  of  wood: 
which,  if  done  witii  celerity,  seems  a  circle  of  firo. 

*  rart  II.  Bcct.  7. 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       219 

SECTION    X. 

UNITY   "WHY   REQUISITE   TO   VASTNES3. 

IT  may  be  objected  to  this  theory,  that  the  eye  gen- 
erally receives  an  equal  number  of  rays  at  all  times, 
and  that  therefore  a  great  object  cannot  affect  it  by 
the  number  of  rays,  more  than  that  variety  of  objects 
which  the  eye  must  always  discern  whilst  it  remains 
open.  But  to  this  I  answer,  that  admitting  an  equal 
number  of  rays,  or  an  equal  qnantity  of  luminous 
particles  to  strike  the  eye  at  all  times,  yet  if  these 
rays  frequently  vary  their  nature,  now  to  blue,  now 
to  red,  and  so  on,  or  their  manner  of  termination, 
as  to  a  number  of  petty  squares,  triangles,  or  the 
like,  at  every  change,  whether  of  color  or  shape,  the 
organ  has  a  sort  of  relaxation  or  rest ;  but  this  re- 
laxation and  labor  so  often  interrupted,  is  by  no 
means  productive  of  ease  ;  neither  has  it  the  effect 
of  vigorous  and  uniform  labor.  Whoever  has  re- 
marked the  different  effects  of  some  strong  exercise, 
and  some  little  piddling  action,  will  understand  why 
a  teasing,  fretful  employment,  which  at  once  wearies 
and  weakens  the  body,  should  have  nothing  great ; 
these  sorts  of  impulses,  which  are  rather  teasing  than 
painful,  by  continually  and  suddenly  altering  their 
tenor  and  direction,  prevent  that  full  tension,  that 
species  of  uniform  labor,  which  is  allied  to  strong 
pain,  and  causes  the  sublime.  The  sum  total  of 
things  of  various  kinds,  though  it  sliould  equal  the 
number  of  the  uniform  parts  composing  some  one 
entire  object,  is  not  equal  in  its  effect  upon  the  or- 
gans of  our  bodies.  Besides  the  one  already  assigned, 
there  is  another  very  strong  reason  for  the  difference. 


220       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFDL. 

The  mind  in  reality  hardly  ever  can  attend  diligently 
to  more  than  one  thing  at  a  time  ;  if  this  thing  be 
little,  the  effect  is  little,  and  a  number  of  other  little 
objects  cannot  engage  the  attention  ;  the  mind  is 
bounded  by  the  bounds  of  the  object ;  and  what  is 
not  attended  to,  and  what  does  not  exist,  are  much 
the  same  in  the  effect ;  but  the  eye  or  the  mind,  (foi- 
in  this  case  there  is  no  difference,)  in  great,  uniform 
objects,  does  not  readily  arrive  at  their  bounds  ;  it  has 
no  rest,  whilst  it  contemplates  them ;  the  image  is 
much  the  same  everywhere.  So  that  everything  great 
by  its  quantity  must  necessarily  be  one,  simple  and 
entire. 

SECTION    XL 

THE    ARTIFICIAL    INFINITE. 

We  have  observed  that  a  species  of  greatness  arises 
from  the  artificial  infinite  ;  and  that  this  infinite  con- 
sists in  an  uniform  succession  of  great  parts  :  we  ob- 
served too,  that  the  same  uniform  succession  had  a 
like  power  in  sounds.  But  because  the  effects  of 
many  things  are  clearer  in  one  of  the  senses  than  in 
another,  and  that  all  the  senses  bear  analogy  to 
and  illustrate  one  another,  I  shall  begin  with  this 
power  in  sounds,  as  the  cause  of  the  sul)limity  from 
succession  is  rather  more  obvious  in  the  sense  of 
hearing.  And  1  shall  here,  once  for  all,  observe,  that 
an  investigation  of  the  natural  and  mechanical  causes 
of  our  passions,  besides  the  curiosity  of  the  subject, 
gives,  if  tlicy  are  discovered,  a,  d()ul)le  strength  and 
lustre  to  any  i-ules  we  deliver  on  such  matters. 
When  the  ear  receives  any  sinijth!  sound,  it  is  strucic 
by  a  single  pulse  of  the  air  which    makes   the   ear- 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  22] 

drum  and  tlie  otlicr  membranous  parts  vibrate  ac- 
cording to  the  nature  and  species  of  the  stroke.  If 
the  stroke  be  strong,  the  organ  of  hearing  suffers  a 
considerable  degree  of  tension.  If  the  stroke,  be  re- 
peated pretty  soon  after,  the  repetition  causes  an 
expectation  of  another  stroke.  And  it  must  be  ob- 
served, that  expectation  itself  causes  a  tension.  This 
is  apparent  in  many  animals,  who,  when  they  prepare 
for  hearing  any  sound,  rouse  themselves,  and  prick 
up  their  ears  ;  so  that  here  the  effect  of  the  sounds  is 
considerably  augmented  by  a  new  auxiliary,  the  ex- 
pectation. But  though  after  a  number  of  strokes, 
we  expect  still  more,  not  being  able  to  ascertain  the 
exact  time  of  their  arrival,  when  they  arrive,  they 
produce  a  sort  of  surprise,  which  increases  this  ten- 
sion yet  further.  For  I  have  observed,  that  when 
at  any  time  I  have  waited  very  earnestly  for  some 
sound,  that  returned  at  intervals,  (as  the  successive 
firing  of  cannon,)  though  I  fully  expected  the  return 
of  the  sound,  when  it  came  it  always  made  me  start 
a  little  ;  the  ear-drum  suffered  a  convulsion,  and  the 
whole  body  consented  with  it.  The  tension  of  the 
part  thus  increasing  at  every  blow,  by  the  united 
forces  of  the  stroke  itself,  the  expectation  and  the 
surprise,  it  is  worked  up  to  such  a  pitch  as  to  be 
capable  of  the  sublime  ;  it  is  brought  just  to  the  verge 
of  pain.  Even  when  the  cause  has  ceased,  the  or- 
gans of  hearing  being  often  successively  struck  in  a 
similar  manner,  continue  to  vibrate  in  that  manner 
for  some  time  longer ;  this  is  an  additional  help  to 
the  greatness  of  the  effect. 


222  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

SECTION    XI I. 

THE    VIBRATIONS    MUST    BE    SIMILAR. 

But  if  the  vibration  be  not  similar  at  every  impres- 
sion, it  can  never  be  carried  beyond  the  number  of 
actual  impressions ;  for,  move  any  body  as  a  pendu- 
lum, in  one  way,  and  it  will  continue  to  oscillate  in 
an  arch  of  the  same  circle,  until  the  known  causes 
make  it  rest ;  but  if,  after  first  putting  it  in  motion  in 
one  direction,  you  push  it  into  another,  it  can  never 
reassume  the  first  direction ;  because  it  can  never 
move  itself,  and  consequently  it  can  have  but  the 
effect  of  that  last  motion  ;  whereas,  if  in  the  same 
direction  you  act  upon  it  several  times,  it  will  de- 
scribe a  greater  arch,  and  move  a  longer  time. 

SECTION    XIII. 

THE   EFFECTS    OF   SUCCESSION   IN   VISUAL    OBJECTS 
EXPLAINED. 

If  we  can  comprehend  cleaHy  how  things  operate 
upon  one  of  our  senses,  there  can  be  very  little  diffi- 
culty in  conceiving  in  what  manner  they  affect  the 
rest.  To  say  a  great  deal  therefore  upon  the  corres- 
ponding affections  of  every  sense,  would  tend  rather 
to  fatigue  us  by  an  useless  repetition,  than  to  throw 
any  new  liglit  upon  the  sul>jcct  by  that  ample  and 
diffuse  manner  of  treating  it ;  but  as  in  this  discourse 
we  chiefly  attach  ourselves  to  the  sublime,  as  it  af- 
fects the  eye,  we  shall  coiisidfir  i^articularly  why  a 
successive  dispositi(»ii  of  iiniroriu  j)arts  in  the  same 
right  lino  should  be  sublime,*  and  upon  what  prin- 

•  Part  II.  sect.  10. 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       223 

ciple  this  disposition  is  enabled  to  make  a  compara- 
tively small  quantity  of  matter  produce  a  grander 
effect,  than  a  much  larger  quantity  disposed  in  an- 
other manner.  To  avoid  the  perplexity  of  general 
notions  ;  let  us  set  before  our  eyes  a  colonnade  of 
uniform  pillars  planted  in  a  right  line  ;  let  us  take 
our  stand  in  such  a  manner,  that  the  eye  may  shoot 
along  this  colonnade,  for  it  has  its  best  effect  in  this 
view.  In  our  present  situation  it  is  plain,  that  the 
rays  from  the  first  round  pillar  will  cause  in  the  eye 
a  vibration  of  that  species  ;  an  image  of  the  pillar 
itself.  The  pillar  immediately  succeeding  increases 
it ;  that  which  follows  renews  and  enforces  the  im- 
pression ;  each  in  its  order  as  it  succeeds,  repeats 
impulse  after  impulse,  and  stroke  after  stroke,  until 
the  eye,  long  exercised  in  one  particular  way,  cannot 
lose  that  object  immediately,  and,  being  violently 
roused  by  tliis  continued  agitation,  it  presents  the 
mind  with  a  grand  or  sublime  conception.  But  in- 
stead of  viewing  a  rank  of  uniform  pillars,  let  us 
suppose  that  they  succeed  each  other,  a  round  and  a 
square  one  alternately.  In  this  case  the  vibration 
caused  by  the  first  round  pillar  perishes  as  soon  as 
it  is  formed ;  and  one  of  quite  another  sort  (the 
square)  directly  occupies  its  place  ;  which  however 
it  resigns  as  qiiickly  to  the  round  one ;  and  thus  the 
eye  proceeds,  alternately,  taking  up  one  image,  and 
laying  down  another,  as  long  as  the  building  contin-  , 
ues.  From  whence  it  is  obvious  that,  at  the  last  pil 
lar,  the  impression  is  as  far  from  continuing  as  it 
was  at  the  very  first ;  because,  in  fact,  the  sensory 
can  receive  no  distinct  impression  but  from  the  last ; 
and  it  can  never  of  itself  resume  a  dissimilar  impres- 
sion :  besides  every  variation  of  the  object  is  a  rest 


22-i  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

and  relaxation  to  the  organs  of  sight ;  and  these  re- 
hefs  prevent  that  powerful  emotion  so  necessary  to 
produce  the  sublime.     To  produce  therefore  a  per- 
fect grandeur  in  such  things  as  we  have  been  men- 
tioning,  there   should   be    a   perfect    simplicity,   an 
absolute  uniformity  in  disposition,  shape,  and  color- 
ing.     Upon    this   principle   of  succession   and   uni- 
formity it  may  be  asked,  why  a  long  bare  wall  should 
not  be  a  more  sublime  object  than  a  colonnade  ;  since 
the  succession  is  no  way  interrupted ;  since  the  eye 
meets  no  check  ;  since  nothing  more  uniform  can  be 
conceived?     A  long  bare  wall   is  certainly  not  so 
grand  an  object  as  a  colonnade  of  the  same  length 
and  height.     It  is  not  altogether  difficult  to  account 
for  this  ditTerence.     When  we  look  at  a  naked  wall, 
from  the  evenness  of  the  object,  the  eye  runs  along 
its  whole  space,  and  arrives  quickly  at  its  termina- 
tion ;  the  eye  meets  nothing  which  may  interrupt  its 
progress  ;  but  then  it  meets  notliing  wliich  may  de- 
tain it  a  proper  time  to  produce  a  very  great  and 
lasting  effect.     The  view  of  a  bare  wall,  if  it  be  of  a 
great  height  and  length,  is  undoubtedly  grand  ;  but 
this  is  only  one  idea,  and  not  a  repetition  of  similar 
ideas  :  it  is  therefore  great,  not  so  ra\ich  upon  the 
principle  of  infinity,  as  upon  tliat  of  vastncss.    But  we 
are  not  so  powerfully  affected  with  any  one  impulse, 
unless  it  be  one  of  a  prodigious  force  indeed,  as  we 
are  with  a  succession  of  similar  impulses  ;  because 
the  nerves  of  the  sensory  do  not  (if  I  may  use  the 
expression)  acquire  a  habit  of  repeating   the  same 
feeling  in  such  a  manner  as  to  continue  it  longer  than 
its  cause  is  in  action  ;  besides,  all  the  effects  which  I 
have  attributed  to  expectation  and  surprise  in  Sect. 
11,  can  have  no  place  u\  a  bare  wall. 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  225 

SECTION    XIV. 

Locke's  opinion   concerning  darkness   considered. 

It  is  Mr.  Locke's  opinion,  that  darkness  is  not  nat- 
urally an  idea  of  terror  ;  and  that,  thongh  an  exces- 
sive light  is  painful  to  the  sense,  the  greatest  excess 
of  darkness  is  no  ways  troublesome.  He  observes  in- 
deed in  another  place,  that  a  nurse  or  an  old  woman 
having  once  associated  the  ideas  of  ghosts  and  gob- 
lins with  that  of  darkness,  night,  ever  after,  becomes 
painful  and  horrible  to  the  imagination.  The  author- 
ity of  this  great  man  is  doubtless  as  great  as  that 
of  any  man  can  be,  and  it  seems  to  stand  in  the  way 
of  our  general  principle.*  We  have  considered  dark- 
ness as  a  cause  of  the  sublime  ;  and  we  have  all  along 
considered  the  sublime  as  depending  on  some  modifi- 
cation of  pain  or  terror :  so  that  if  darkness  be  no 
way  painful  or  terrible  to  any,  who  have  not  had 
their  minds  early  tainted  with  superstitions,  it  can  be 
no  source  of  the  sublime  to  them.  But,  with  all  def- 
erence to  such  an  authority,  it  seems  to  me,  that  an 
association  of  a  more  general  nature,  an  association 
which  takes  in  all  mankuid,  may  make  darkness  ter- 
rible ;  for  in  utter  darkness  it  is  impossible  to  know 
in  what  degree  of  safety  we  stand ;  we  are  ignorant 
of  the  objects  that  surround  us ;  we  may  every  mo- 
ment strike  against  some  dangerous  obstruction ;  we 
may  fall  down  a  precipice  the  first  step  we  take  ;  and 
if  an  enemy  approach,  we  know  not  in  what  quarter 
to  defend  ourselves ;  in  such  a  case  strength  is  no 
sure  protection ;  wisdom  can  only  act  by  guess ;  the 
boldest  are  staggered,  and  he  who  would  pray  for 

*  Piirt  II.  sect.  3. 

TOL.  I.  15 


226       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

nothing  else  towards  his  defence  is  forced  to  pray  for 
light. 

ZfO  TTarep,  a}^\a  av  pvcrai  vn'  Tjepos  vias  'Axaiap' 
Uolrjcrov  8   a'idprjv,  86s  S    of^BakpoicTiv  IhtaBai' 
YaV  be  (pdfi,  Koi  oXeaaov,  .   .   . 

As  to  the  association  of  ghosts  and  goblins  ;  surely 
it  is  more  natural  to  think  that  darkness,  being  ori- 
ginally an  idea  of  terror,  was  chosen  as  a  fit  scene 
for  such  terrible  representations,  than  that  such  rep- 
resentations have  made  darkness  terrible.  The  mind 
of  man  very  easily  slides  into  an  error  of  the  former 
sort ;  but  it  is  very  hard  to  imagine,  that  the  effect 
of  an  idea  so  universally  terrible  in  all  times,  and  in 
all  countries,  as  darkness,  could  possibly  have  been 
owing  to  a  set  of  idle  stories,  or  to  any  cause  of  a  na- 
ture so  trivial,  and  of  an  operation  so  precarious 


SECTION    XV. 

DARKNESS    TERRIBLE    IN    ITS    OWN    NATURE. 

Perhaps  it  may  appear  on  inquiry,  that  blackness 
and  darkness  are  in  some  degree  painful  by  their  nat 
ural  operation,  independent  of  aliy  associations  what- 
soever. I  must  observe,  that  tlie  ideas  of  darkness 
and  blackness  are  much  the  same ;  and  they  differ 
only  in  this,  tliat  blackness  is  a  more  confined  idea. 
Mr.  Cbeseldcn  has  given  us  a  very  curious  story  of  a 
boy  wlio  had  been  born  l)Und,  and  continued  so  until 
he  was  tbirteou  or  fourteen  years  old  ;  lie  was  then 
couched  for  a  cataract,  by  which  operation  he  received 
his  sight.  Among  many  remarkable  particulars  that 
attondeil  his  first  perceptions  and  jndginciits  on  visual 
olyects,  Cheselden  tells  us,  that  the  (irst  time  the  boy 


ON  THE   SUBLIME    AND   BEAUTIFUL.  227 

saw  a  black  object,  it  gave  him  great  uneasiness  ;  and 
that  some  time  after,  upon  accidentally  seeing  a  negro 
woman,  he  was  struck  with  great  horror  at  the  sight. 
The  horror,  in  this  case,  can  scarcely  be  supposed  to 
arise  from  any  association.  The  boy  appears  by  the 
account  to  have  been  particularly  observing  and  sen- 
sible for  one  of  his  age  ;  and  therefore  it  is  probable, 
if  the  great  uneasiness  he  felt  at  the  first  sight  of 
black  had  arisen  from  its  connection  with  any  other 
disagreeable  ideas,  he  would  have  observed  and  men- 
tioned it.  For  an  idea,  disagreeable  only  by  associa- 
tion, has  the  cause  of  its  ill  effect  on  the  passions 
evident  enough  at  the  first  impression ;  in  ordinary 
cases,  it  is  indeed  frequently  lost ;  but  this  is  because 
the  original  association  was  made  very  early,  and  the 
consequent  impression  repeated  often.  In  our  in- 
stance, there  was  no  time  for  such  a  habit ;  and  there 
is  no  reason  to  think  that  the  ill  effects  of  black  on 
his  imagination  were  more  owing  to  its  connection 
with  any  disagreeable  ideas,  than  that  the  good  ef- 
fects of  more  cheerful  colors  were  derived  from  their 
connection  with  pleasing  ones.  They  had  both  prob- 
ably their  effects  from  their  natural  operation. 


SECTION    XVI. 

WHY   DARKNESS    IS    TERRIBLE. 

It  may  be  worth  while  to  examine  how  darkness 
can  operate  in  such  a  manner  as  to  cause  pain.  It  is 
observable,  that  still  as  we  recede  from  the  light,  nar 
ture  has  so  contrived  it,  that  the  pupil  is  enlarged  by 
the  retiring  of  the  iris,  in  proportion  to  our  recess. 
Now,  instead  of  declining  from  it  but  a  little,  suppose 


228       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

that  we  withdraw  entirely  from  the  light ;  it  is  rea- 
sonable to  think  that  the  contraction  of  the  radial 
fibres  of  the  iris  is  proportionablj  greater ;  and  that 
this  part  may  by  great  darkness  come  to  be  so  con- 
tracted, as  to  strain  the  nerves  that  compose  it  beyond 
their  natural  tone  ;  and  by  this  means  to  produce  a 
painful  sensation.  Such  a  tension  it  seems  there 
certainly  is,  whilst  we  are  involved  in  darkness ;  for 
in  such  a  state,  whilst  the  eye  remains  open,  there  is 
a  continual  nisus  to  receive  light ;  this  is  manifest 
from  the  flashes  and  luminous  appearances  which 
often  seem  in  these  circumstances  to  play  before  it ; 
and  which  can  be  nothing  but  the  effect  of  spasms, 
produced  by  its  own  efforts  in  pursuit  of  its  object : 
several  other  strong  impulses  will  produce  the  idea 
of  light  in  the  eye,  besides  the  substance  of  light 
itself,  as  we  experience  on  many  occasions.  Some, 
who  allow  darkness  to  be  a  cause  of  the  sublime, 
would  infer,  from  the  dilatation  of  the  pupil,  that  a 
relaxation  may  be  productive  of  the  sublime  as  well 
as  a  convulsion :  but  they  do  not,  I  believe,  consider, 
that  although  the  circular  ring  of  the  iris  be  in  some 
sense  a  sphincter,  which  may  possibly  be  dilated  by  a 
simple  relaxation,  yet  in  one  respect  it  differs  from 
most  of  tlie  other  sphincters  of  the  body,  that  it  is 
fuinishcd  with  antagonist  muscles,  which  are  the 
radial  fibres  of  the  iris :  no  sooner  does  the  circular 
muscle  begin  to  relax,  than  these  fibres,  wanting 
their  counterpoise,  are  forcibly  drawn  back,  and  open 
i\\r,  pupil  to  a  considerable  wideness.  But  though 
wc  were  not  apjirised  of  this,  1  believe  any  one  will 
find,  if  he  opc^ns  his  eyes  and  makes  an  effoi't  to  see 
ill  :i  (Ini-k  place,  that  a  very  perceivable  pain  ensues. 
And  1  have  heard  some  ladies  remark,  that  after  hav- 


ON    THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL.  ii29 

ing  worked  a  long  time  upon  a  ground  of  black,  their 
eyes  were  so  pained  and  weakened,  they  could  hardly 
see.  It  may  perhaps  be  ol)jected  to  this  theory  of  the 
mechanical  effect  of  darkness,  that  the  ill  effects  of 
darkness  or  blackness  seem  rather  mental  than  corpo- 
real :  and  I  own  it  is  true  that  they  do  so ;  and  so  do 
all  those  that  depend  on  tlie  affections  of  the  finer 
parts  of  our  system.  The  ill  effects  of  bad  weather 
appear  often  no  otherwise  than  in  a  melancholy  and 
dejection  of  spirits ;  though  without  doubt,  in  this 
case,  the  bodily  organs  suffer  first,  and  the  mind 
through  these  organs. 


SECTION    XVII. 

THE    EFFECTS    OF    BLACKNESS. 

Blackness  is  but  a  partial  darkness  ;  and  therefore 
it  derives  some  of  its  powers  from  being  mixed  and 
surrounded  with  colored  bodies.  In  its  own  nature, 
it  cannot  be  considered  as  a  color.  Black  bodies,  re- 
flecting none,  or  but  a  few  rays,  with  regard  to  sight, 
are  but  as  so  many  vacant  spaces,  dispersed  among 
the  objects  we  view.  When  the  eye  lights  on  one  of 
these  vacuities,  after  having  been  kept  in  some  degree 
of  tension  by  the  play  of  the  adjacent  colors  upon  it,  it 
suddenly  falls  into  a  relaxation  ;  out  of  which  it  as 
suddenly  recovers  by  a  convulsive  spring.  To  illus- 
trate this :  let  us  consider  that  when  we  intend  to  sit 
on  a  chair,  and  find  it  much  lower  than  was  expected, 
the  shock  is  very  violent ;  much  more  violent  than 
could  be  thought  from  so  slight  a  fall  as  the  difference 
between  one  chair  and  another  can  possibly  make.  If, 
after  descending  a  flight  of  stairs,  we  attempt  inad- 


230  ON    THE    SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

verteutly  to  take  another  step  in  the  manner  of  the 
former  ones,  the  shock  is  extremely  rude  and  disa- 
greeable :  and  by  no  art  can  we  cause  such  a  shock  by 
the  same  means  when  we  expect  and  prepare  for  it. 
When  1  say  that  this  is  owing  to  having  the  change 
made  contrary  to  expectation  ;  I  do  not  mean  solely, 
when  the  mind  expects.  I  mean  likewise,  that  when 
any  organ  of  sense  is  for  some  time  affected  in  some 
one  manner,  if  it  be  suddenly  affected  otherwise,  there 
ensues  a  convulsive  motion  ;  such  a  convulsion  as  is 
caused  when  anything  happens  against  the  expectance 
of  the  mind.  And  though  it  may  appear  strange  that 
such  a  change  as  produces  a  relaxation  should  imme- 
diately produce  a  sudden  convulsion ;  it  is  yet  most 
certainly  so,  and  so  in  all  the  senses.  Every  one  knows 
that  sleep  is  a  relaxation  ;  and  that  silence,  where  notli- 
hig  keeps  the  organs  of  hearing  in  action,  is  in  gen- 
eral fittest  to  bring  on  this  relaxation ;  yet  when  a 
sort  of  murmuring  sounds  dispose  a  man  to  sleep,  let 
these  sounds  cease  suddenly,  and  the  person  immedi- 
ately awakes ;  that  is,  the  parts  are  braced  up  sud- 
denly, and  he  awakes.  This  I  have  often  experienced 
myself,  and  I  have  heard  the  same  from  observing 
persons.  In  like  manner,  if  a  person  in  broad  day- 
light were  falling  asleep,  to  introduce  a  sudden  dark- 
ness would  prevent  his  sleep  for  that  time,  though 
silence  and  darkness  in  themselves,  and  not  suddenly 
introduced,  are  very  favorable  to  it.  This  I  knew 
only  by  conjecture  on  the  analogy  of  the  senses  when 
I  first  digested  these  observations ;  but  I  have  since 
experienced  it.  And  1  have  often  experienced,  and 
so  have  a  thousand  others,  that  on  the  first  inclining 
towards  sleep,  we  have  l)ocn  suddenly  awakened  with 
a  most  violent  start;   and  that  this  start  was  gencr- 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL.  231 

ally  preceded  by  a  sort  of  dream  of  our  falling  down 
a  precipice :  whence  does  this  strange  motion  arise, 
but  from  the  too  sudden  relaxation  of  the  body,  which 
by  some  mechanism  in  nature  restores  itself  by  as 
quick  and  vigorous  an  exertion  of  the  contracting 
power  of  the  muscles  ?  The  dream  itself  is  caused 
by  this  relaxation  ;  and  it  is  of  too  uniform  a  na- 
ture to  be  attributed  to  any  other  cause.  The  parts 
relax  too  suddenly,  which  is  in  the  nature  of  fall- 
ing ;  and  this  accident  of  the  body  induces  this  im- 
age in  the  mind.  When  we  are  in  a  confirmed 
state  of  health  and  vigor,  as  all  changes  are  then  less 
sudden,  and  less  on  the  extreme,  we  can  seldom  com- 
plain of  this  disagreeable  sensation. 


SECTION   XVIIL 

THE    EFFECTS    OF    BLACKNESS  MODERATED. 

Though  the  effects  of  black  be  painful  originally, 
we  must  not  think  they  always  continue  so.  Custom 
reconciles  us  to  everything.  After  we  have  been 
used  to  the  sight  of  black  objects,  the  terror  abates, 
and  the  smoothness  and  glossiness,  or  some  agreeable 
accident  of  bodies  so  colored,  softens  in  some  meas- 
ure the  horror  and  sternness  of  their  original  nature  ; 
yet  the  nature  of  the  original  impression  still  contin- 
ues. Black  will  always  have  something  melancholy 
in  it,  because  the  sensory  will  always  find  the  change 
to  it  from  other  colors  too  violent ;  or  if  it  occupy  the 
whole  compass  of  the  sight,  it  will  then  be  darkness  ; 
and  what  was  said  of  darkness  will  be  applicable 
here.  I  do  not  purpose  to  go  into  all  that  might  be 
said  to  illustrate  this  theory  of  the  effects  of  liglic  and 


232      ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

darkness ;  neither  will  I  examine  all  the  different 
effects  produced  by  the  various  modifications  and 
mixtures  of  these  two  causes.  If  the  foregoing  ob- 
servations have  any  foundation  in  nature,  I  conceive 
them  very  sufficient  to  account  for  all  the  phenom- 
ena that  can  arise  from  all  the  combinations  of  black 
with  other  colors.  To  enter  into  every  particular,  or 
to  answer  every  objection,  would  be  an  endless  labor. 
We  have  only  followed  the  most  leading  roads  ;  and 
we  shall  observe  the  same  conduct  in  our  inquiry 
into  the  cause  of  beauty. 


SECTION    XIX. 

THE  PHYSICAL  CAUSE  OF  LOVE. 

When  we  have  before  us  such  objects  as  excite  love 
and  complacency,  the  body  is  affected,  so  far  as  I 
could  observe,  much  in  the  following  manner :  the 
head  reclines  something  on  one  side ;  the  eyelids  are 
more  closed  than  usual,  and  the  eyes  roll  gently  with 
an  inclination  to  the  object ;  the  mouth  is  a  little 
opened,  and  the  breath  drawn  slowly,  with  now  and 
then  a  low  sigh  ;  the  whole  body  is  composed,  and 
the  hands  fall  idly  to  the  sides.  All  this  is  accompa- 
nied witli  an  inward  sense  of  melting  and  languor. 
These  appearances  are  always  proportioned  to  the 
degree  of  beauty  in  the  object,  and  of  sensibility  in 
tlie  observer.  And  this  gradation  from  tlie  highest 
pitch  of  beauty  and  sensibility,  even  to  the  lowest  of 
mediocrity  and  indinerence,  and  their  correspondent 
effects,  ought  to  be  k(;i)t  in  view,  else  this  description 
will  seem  exaggerated,  which  it  certainly  is  not. 
But  fi'om  this  description  it  is  almost  impossible  not 


ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL.       233 

to  conclude  that  beauty  acts  by  relaxing  the  solids  of 
the  whole  system.  There  are  all  the  appearances  of 
such  a  relaxation  ;  and  a  relaxation  somewhat  below 
the  natural  tone  seems  to  me  to  be  the  cause  of  all 
positive  pleasure.  Who  is  a  stranger  to  that  manner 
of  expression  so  common  in  all  times  and  in  all  coun- 
tries, of  being  softened,  relaxed,  enervated,  dissolved, 
melted  away  by  pleasure  ?  The  universal  voice  of 
mankind,  faithful  to  their  feelings,  concurs  in  affirm- 
ing this  uniform  and  general  effect:  and  although 
some  odd  and  particular  instance  may  perhaps  be 
found,  wherein  there  appears  a  considerable  degree 
of  positive  pleasure,  without  all  the  characters  of 
relaxation,  we  must  not  therefore  reject  the  conclu- 
sion we  had  drawn  from  a  concurrence  of  many  ex- 
periments ;  but  we  must  still  retain  it,  subjoining  the 
exceptions  which  may  occur  accordhig  to  the  judi- 
cious rule  laid  down  by  Sir  Isaac  Newton  in  the  third 
book  of  his  Optics.  Our  position  will,  I  conceive, 
appear  confirmed  beyond  any  reasonable  doubt,  if  we 
can  show  that  such  things  as  we  have  already  ob- 
served to  be  the  genuine  constituents  of  beauty  have 
each  of  them,  separately  taken,  a  natural  tendency 
to  relax  the  fibres.  And  if  it  must  be  allowed  us, 
that  the  appearance  of  the  human  body,  when  all 
tiiese  constituents  are  united  together  before  the  sen- 
sory, further  favors  this  opinion,  we  may  venture,  I 
believe,  to  conclude  that  the  passion  called  love  is 
produced  by  this  relaxation.  By  the  same  method 
of  reasoning  which  we  have  used  in  the  inquiry  into 
the  causes  of  the  sublime,  we  may  likewise  conclude, 
that  as  a  beautiful  object  presented  to  the  sense,  by 
causing  a  relaxation  of  the  body,  produces  the  pas- 
sion of  love  in  the  mind ;  so  if  by  any  means  the  pas- 


234       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

sion  should  first  have  its  origin  in  the  mind,  a  relaxa- 
tion of  the  outward  organs  will  as  certainly  ensue  in 
a  degree  proportioned  to  the  cause. 


SECTION    XX. 

WUr    SMOOTHNESS    IS    BEAUTIFUL. 

It  is  to  explain  the  true  cause  of  visual  beauty  that 
I  call  in  the  assistance  of  the  other  senses.  If  it  a|> 
pears  that  smoothness  is  a  principal  cause  of  pleasure 
to  the  touch,  taste,  smell,  and  hearing,  it  will  be 
easily  admitted  a  constituent  of  visual  beauty ;  espe- 
cially as  we  have  before  shown,  that  this  quality  is 
found  almost  without  exception  in  all  bodies  that  are 
by  general  consent  held  beautiful.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  that  bodies  which  are  rough  and  angular, 
rouse  and  vellicate  the  organs  of  feeling,  causing  a 
sense  of  pain,  which  consists  in  the  violent  tension  or 
contraction  of  the  muscular  fibres.  On  the  contrary, 
the  application  of  smooth  bodies  relaxes ;  gentle 
stroking  with  a  smooth  hand  allays  violent  pains  and 
cramps,  and  relaxes  the  suflcring  parts  from  their 
unnatural  tension ;  and  it  has  therefore  very  often 
no  mean  effect  in  removing  swellings  and  obstruc- 
tions. The  sense  of  feeling  is  highly  gratified  with 
smooth  bodies.  A  bed  smoothly  laid,  and  soft,  that 
is,  where  the  resistance  is  every  way  inconsiderable, 
is  a  great  luxury,  disposing  to  an  universal  relaxa- 
tion, and  inducing  beyond  anything  else  that  species 
of  it  called  sleep. 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  236 


SECTION    XXI. 

SWEETNESS,    ITS    NATURE. 

Nor  is  it  only  in  the  touch  that  smooth  bodies  cause 
positive  pleasure  by  relaxation.  In  the  smell  and 
taste,  we  find  all  things  agreeable  to  them,  and  which 
are  commonly  called  sweet,  to  be  of  a  smooth  nature, 
and  that  they  all  evidently  tend  to  relax  their  respec- 
tive sensories.  Let  us  first  consider  the  taste.  Since 
it  is  most  easy  to  inquire  into  the  property  of  liquids, 
and  since  all  things  seem  to  want  a  fluid  vehicle  to 
make  tliem  tasted  at  all,  I  intend  rather  to  consider 
the  liquid  than  the  solid  parts  of  our  food.  The  ve- 
hicles of  all  tastes  are  water  and  oil.  And  what  deter- 
mines -the  taste  is  some  salt,  which  affects  variously 
according  to  its  nature,  or  its  manner  of  being  com- 
bined with  other  things.  Water  and  oil,  simply  con- 
sidered, are  capable  of  giving  some  pleasure  to  the 
taste.  Water,  when  simple,  is  insipid,  inodorous,  col- 
orless, and  smooth  ;  it  is  found,  when  not  cold.,  to  be  a 
great  resolver  of  spasms,  and  lubricator  of  the  fibres  ; 
this  power  it  probably  owes  to  its  smoothness.  For 
as  fluidity  depends,  according  to  the  most  general 
opinion,  on  the  roundness,  smoothness,  and  weak  co- 
hesion of  the  component  parts  of  any  body,  and  as 
water  acts  merely  as  a  simple  fluid,  it  follows  that 
the  cause  of  its  fluidity  is  likewise  the  cause  of  its 
relaxing  quality,  namely,  the  smoothness  and  slippery 
texture  of  its  parts.  The  other  fluid  vehicle  of  tastes 
is  oil.  This  too,  when  simple,  is  insipid,  inodorous, 
colorless,  and  smooth  to  the  touch  and  taste.  It  is 
smoother  than  water,  and  in  many  cases  yet  more 
relaxing.     Oil  is  in  some  degree  pleasant  to  the  eye, 


236  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

the  touch,  and  the  taste,  insipid  as  it  is.  Water  is 
not  so  grateful ;  which  I  do  not  know  on  what  prin- 
ciple to  account  for,  other  than  that  water  is  not  so 
soft  and  smooth.  Suppose  that  to  this  oil  or  water 
were  added  a  certain  quantity  of  a  specific  salt,  which 
had  a  power  of  putting  the  nervous  papillee  of  the 
tongue  into  a  gentle  vibratory  motion  ;  as  suppose 
sugar  dissolved  in  it.  The  smoothness  of  the  oil  and 
the  vibratory  power  of  the  salt  cause  the  sense  we 
call  sweetness.  In  all  sweet  bodies,  sugar,  or  a  sub- 
stance very  little  different  from  sugar,  is  constantly 
found.  Every  species  of  salt,  examined  by  the  mi- 
croscope, has  its  own  distinct,  regular,  invariable 
form.  That  of  nitre  is  a  pointed  oblong ;  that  of  sea- 
salt  an  exact  cube  ;  that  of  sugar  a  perfect  globe. 
If  you  have  tried  how  smooth  globular  bodies,  as  the 
marbles  with  which  boys  amuse  themselves,  have  af- 
fected the  touch  when  they  are  rolled  backward  and 
forward  and  over  one  another,  you  will  easily  con- 
ceive how  sweetness,  which  consists  in  a  salt  of  such 
nature,  affects  the  taste ;  for  a  single  globe  (though 
somewhat  pleasant  to  the  feeling),  yet  by  the  regu- 
larity of  its  form,  and  the  somewhat  too  sudden  devi- 
ation of  its  parts  from  a  riglit  line,  is  nothing  near  so 
pleasant  to  the  touch  as  several  globes,  where  the 
hand  gently  rises  to  one  and  falls  to  another ;  and 
this  pleasure  is  greatly  increased  if  the  globes  are  in 
motion,  and  sliding  over  one  another  ;  for  this  soft 
variety  prevents  that  weariness,  which  the  uniform 
disposition  of  the  several  globes  would  otherwise  j)ro- 
diice.  Thus  in  sweet  liquors,  the  parts  of  the  iiuid 
vehicle,  though  most  prol)ahly  round,  are  yet  so  mi- 
nute, as  to  conceal  the  liguie  of  their  component 
parts  from  tlie  nicest  inquisition  of  the  microscope; 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  237 

and  consequently,  being  so  excessively  minute,  they 
have  a  sort  of  flat  simplicity  to  the  taste,  resembling 
the  effects  of  plain  smooth  bodies  to  the  touch  ;  for 
if  a  body  be  composed  of  round  parts  excessively 
small,  and  packed  pretty  closely  together,  the  sur- 
face will  be  both  to  the  sight  and  touch  as  if  it  were 
nearly  plain  and  smooth.  It  is  clear  from  their  un- 
veiling their  figure  to  the  microscope,  that  the  parti- 
cles of  sugar  are  considerably  larger  than  those  of 
water  or  oil,  and  consequently  that  their  effects  from 
their  roundness  will  be  more  distinct  and  palpable  to 
the  nervous  papillse  of  that  nice  organ  the  tongue; 
they  will  induce  that  sense  called  sweetness,  which  in 
a  weak  manner  we  discover  in  oil,  and  in  a  yet  weaker 
in  water ;  for,  insipid  as  they  are,  water  and  oil  are 
in  some  degree  sweet ;  and  it  may  be  observed,  that 
insipid  things  of  all  kinds  approach  more  nearly  to 
the  nature  of  sweetness  than  to  that  of  any  other 
taste. 

SECTION    XXII. 

SWEETNESS   RELAXING. 

In  the  other  senses  we  have  remarked,  that  smooth 
things  are  relaxing.  Now  it  ought  to  appear  that 
sweet  things,  which  are  the  smooth  of  taste,  are  re 
laxing  too.  It  is  remarkable,  that  in  some  languages 
soft  and  sweet  ha/e  but  one  name.  Doux  in  French 
signifies  soft  as  well  as  sweet.  The  Latin  dulcls,  and 
the  Italian  dolce,  have  in  many  cases  the  same  double 
signification.  That  sweet  things  are  generally  relax- 
ing, is  evident ;  because  all  such,  especially  those 
which  are  most  oily,  taken  frequently,  or  in  a  large 
quantity,  very  much  enfeeble  the  tone  of  the  stem- 


238  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

ach.  Sweet  smells,  which  bear  a  great  affinity  to 
sweet  tastes,  relax  very  remarkably.  The  smell  of 
flowers  disposes  people  to  drowsiness ;  and  this  re- 
laxing effect  is  further  apparent  from  the  prejudice 
which  people  of  weak  nerves  receive  from  their  use. 
It  were  worth  while  to  examine,  whether  tastes  of  this 
kind,  sweet  ones,  tastes  that  are  caused  by  smooth 
oils  and  a  relaxing  salt,  are  not  the  originally  pleas- 
ant tastes.  For  many,  which  use  has  rendered  such, 
were  not  at  all  agreeable  at  first.  The  way  to  exam- 
ine this  is,  to  try  what  nature  has  originally  provided 
for  us,  which  she  has  undoubtedly  made  originally 
pleasant ;  and  to  analyze  this  provision.  Milk  is 
the  first  support  of  our  childhood.  The  component 
parts  of  this  are  water,  oil,  and  a  sort  of  a  very  sweet 
salt,  called  the  sugar  of  milk.  All  these  when  blend- 
ed have  a  great  smoothness  to  the  taste,  and  a  relax- 
ing quality  to  the  skin.  The  next  thing  children 
covet  is  fruit,  and  of  fruits  those  principally  which 
are  sweet ;  and  every  one  knows  that  the  sweetness 
of  fruit  is  caused  by  a  subtle  oil,  and  such  a  salt  as 
that  mentioned  in  the  last  section.  Afterwards  cus- 
tom, habit,  the  desire  of  novelty,  and  a  thousand 
other  causes,  confound,  adulterate,  and  change  our 
palates,  so  that  we  can  no  longer  reason  with  any 
satisfaction  about  them.  Before  we  quit  this  article, 
we  must  observe,  that  as  smooth  things  are,  as  s\ich, 
agreeable  to  the  taste,  and  are  found  of  a  relaxing 
quality  ;  so  on  the  other  hand,  things  which  are 
found  by  cxi)ericnce  to  be  of  a  strengtlicning  qual- 
ity, and  fit  to  brace  tlie  fi])rcs,  are  almost  univer- 
sally rough  and  pungcMit  to  the  taste,  and  in  many 
cases  rough  even  to  the  touch.  We  often  a|)ply  the 
quality  of  sweetness,  metai)horically,  to  visual  objects. 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  239 

For  the  better  carrying  on  tins  remarkable  analogy 
of  the  senses,  we  may  here  call  sweetness  the  beauti- 
ful of  the  taste. 


SECTION    XXIII. 

VARIATION,    WHY    BEAUTIFUL. 

Another  principal  property  of  beautiful  objects  is, 
that  the  line  of  their  parts  is  continually  varying  its 
direction  ;  but  it  varies  it  by  a  very  insensible  devia- 
tion ;  it  never  varies  it  so  quickly  as  to  surprise,  or 
by  the  sharpness  of  its  angle  to  cause  any  twitching  or 
convulsion  of  the  optic  nerve.  Nothing  long  contin- 
ued in  the  same  manner,  nothing  very  suddenly 
varied,  can  be  beautiful;  because  both  are  opposite 
to  that  agreeable  relaxation  which  is  the  characteris- 
tic effect  of  beauty.  It  is  thus  in  all  the  senses.  A 
motion  in  a  right  line  is  that  manner  of  moving,  next 
to  a  very  gentle  descent,  in  -vvliich  we  meet  the  least 
resistance ;  yet  it  is  not  that  manner  of  moving, 
which  next  to  a  descent,  wearies  us  the  least.  Rest 
certainly  tends  to  relax :  yet  there  is  a  species  of 
motion  which  relaxes  more  than  rest ;  a  gentle  oscil- 
latory motion,  a  rising  and  falling.  Rocking  sets 
children  to  sleep  better  than  absolute  rest ;  there  is- 
indeed  scarcely  anything  at  that  age,  which  gives 
more  pleasure  than  to  be  gently  lifted  up  and  down  ; 
the  manner  of  playing  which  their  nurses  use  with 
children,  and  the  weighing  and  swinging  used  after- 
wards by  themselves  as  a  favorite  amusement,  CAnince 
this  very  sufficiently.  Most  people  must  have  ob- 
served the  sort  of  sense  they  have  had  on  behig 
swiftly  drawn  in  an  easy  coach  on  a  smooth  turf,  with 


240  ox   THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

gradual  ascents  and  declivities.  This  will  give  a  bet- 
ter idea  of  the  beautiful,  and  point  out  its  probable 
cause  better,  than  almost  anything  else.  On  the  con- 
trary, when  one  is  hurried  over  a  rough,  rocky, 
broken  road,  the  pain  felt  by  these  sudden  inequali- 
ties shows  why  similar  sights,  feelings,  and  sounds, 
are  so  contrary  to  beauty :  and  with  regard  to  the 
feeling,  it  is  exactly  the  same  in  its  eifect,  or  very 
nearly  the  same,  whether,  for  instance,  I  move  my 
hand  along  the  surface  of  a  body  of  a  certain  shape, 
or  whether  such  a  body  is  moved  along  my  hand. 
But  to  bring  this  analogy  of  the  senses  home  to  the 
eye ;  if  a  body  presented  to  that  sense  has  such  a 
waving  surface,  tliat  the  rays  of  light  reflected  from 
it  are  in  a  continual  insensible  deviation  from  the 
strongest  to  the  weakest  (which  is  always  the  case  in 
a  surface  gradually  unequal),  it  must  be  exactly  sim- 
ilar in  its  effects  on  tlie  eye  and  touch ;  upon  the  one 
of  which  it  operates  directly,  on  the  other  indirectly. 
And  this  body  will  be  beautiful  if  the  lines  whicli 
compose  its  surface  are  not  continued,  even  so  varied, 
in  a  manner  that  may  weary  or  dissipate  tlie  atten- 
tion.   The  variation  itself  must  be  continually  varied. 


SECTION    XXIV. 

CONCKRNING    SMALLNESS. 

To  avoid  a  sameness  wliich  may  arise  from  the  too 
frequent  repetition  of  the  same  reasonings,  and  of 
illustrations  of  the  same  nature,  I  will  not  enter  very 
minutely  into  every  j)articular  that  regards  beauty, 
as  it  is  founded  on  (he  disposition  of  its  (]uantity,  or 
its  quantity  itself.     In  speidcing  of  the  magnitude  of 


ON    THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL.  241 

bodies  tliero  is  great  uncertainty,  because  the  ideas 
of  great  and  small  are  terms  almost  entirely  relative 
to  the  species  of  the  objects,  which  are  infinite.  It  is 
true,  that  having  once  fixed  the  species  of  any  object, 
and  the  dimensions  common  in  the  individuals  of  that 
species,  we  may  observe  some  that  exceed,  and  some 
that  fall  short  of,  the  ordinary  standard :  those  which 
greatly  exceed  are,  by  that  excess,  provided  the  spe- 
cies itself  be  not  very  small,  rather  great  and  terrible 
than  beautiful ;  but  as  in  the  animal  world,  and  in  a 
good  measure  in  the  vegetable  world  likewise,  the 
qualities  that  constitute  beauty  may  possibly  be  united 
to  tilings  of  greater  dimensions ;  when  they  are  so 
united,  they  constitute  a  species  something  different 
both  from  the  sublime  and  beautiful,  which  I  have 
before  called  fine ;  but  this  kind,  I  imagine,  has  not 
such  a  power  on  the  passions,  either  as  vast  bodies 
have  which  are  endued  with  the  correspondent  quali- 
ties of  the  sublime  ;  or  as  the  qualities  of  beauty  have 
when  united  in  a  small  object.  The  affection  pro- 
duced by  large  bodies  adorned  with  the  spoils  of 
beauty,  is  a  tension  continually  relieved ;  which  ap- 
proaches to  the  nature  of  mediocrity.  But  if  I  were 
to  say  how  I  find  myself  affected  upon  such  occasions, 
I  should  say  that  the  sublime  suffers  less  by  being 
united  to  some  of  the  qualities  of  beauty,  than  beauty 
does  by  being  joined  to  greatness  of  quantity,  or 
any  otlier  properties  of  the  sublime.  There  is  some- 
thing so  overruling  in  whatever  inspires  us  with  awe, 
in  all  things  which  belong  ever  so  remotely  to  terror, 
that  nothing  else  can  stand  in  their  presence.  There 
lie  tlie  qualities  of  beauty  either  dead  or  unoperative  ; 
or  at  most  exerted  to  mollify  the  rigor  and  sternness 
of  the  terror,  which  is  the  natural   concomitant  of 

VOL.  I.  16 


242      ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL, 

greatness.  Besides  the  extraordinary  great  in  every 
species,  the  opposite  to  this,  the  dwarfish  and  diminu- 
tive, ought  to  be  considered.  Littleness,  merely  as 
such,  has  nothing  contrary  to  the  idea  of  beauty. 
The  humming-bird,  both  in  shape  and  coloring,  yields 
to  none  of  the  winged  species,  of  which  it  is  the  least ; 
and  perhaps  his  beauty  is  enhanced  by  his  smallness. 
But  there  are  animals,  which,  when  they  are  extreme- 
ly small,  are  rarely  (if  ever)  beautiful.  There  is  a 
dwarfish  size  of  men  and  women,  which  is  almost 
constantly  so  gross  and  massive  in  comparison  of 
their  height,  that  they  present  us  with  a  very  disa- 
greeable image.  But  should  a  man  be  found  not 
above  two  or  three  feet  high,  supposing  such  a  person 
to  have  all  the  parts  of  his  body  of  a  delicacy  suitable 
to  such  a  size,  and  otherwise  endued  with  the  com- 
mon qualities  of  other  beautiful  bodies,  I  am  pretty 
well  convinced  that  a  person  of  such  a  statui'e  might 
be  considered  as  beautiful ;  might  be  the  object  of 
love ;  might  give  us  very  pleasing  ideas  on  viewing 
him.  The  only  thing  which  could  possibly  interpose 
to  check  our  pleasure  is,  that  such  creatures,  however 
formed,  are  unusual,  and  are  often  therefore  consid- 
ered as  something  monstrous.  The  large  and  gigan- 
tic, though  very  compatible  with  the  sublime,  is 
contrary  to  the  beautiful.  It  is  impossible  to  sup- 
pose a  giant  the  object  of  love.  When  we  let  our 
imagination  loose  in  romance,  the  ideas  wc  naturally 
annex  to  that  size  are  those  of  tyranny,  cruelty,  in- 
justice, and  everything  liorrid  and  abominable.  Wc 
paint  the  giant  ravaging  the  country,  plnndering  the 
innocent  traveller,  and  afterwards  gorged  with  his 
hall-living  flesh  :  such  are  Polyphemus,  Cacus,  and 
others,  who  make  so  great  a  figure  in  romances  and 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  243 

heroic  poems.  The  event  we  attend  to  with  the 
greatest  satisfaction  is  their  defeat  and  death.  I  do 
not  remember,  in  all  that  mnltitude  of  deaths  with 
which  the  Iliad  is  filled,  that  the  fall  of  any  man, 
remarkable  for  his  groat  stature  and  strength,  touches 
us  with  pity ;  nor  does  it  appear  that  the  author,  so 
well  read  in  human  nature,  ever  intended  it  should. 
It  is  Simoisius,  in  the  soft  bloom  of  youth,  torn  from 
his  parents,  who  tremble  for  a  courage  so  ill  suited  to 
his  strength ;  it  is  another  hurried  by  war  from  the 
new  embraces  of  his  bride,  young  and  fair,  and  a 
novice  to  the  field,  who  melts  us  by  his  untimely  fate. 
Achilles,  in  spite  of  the  many  qualities  of  beauty 
which  Homer  has  bestowed  on  his  outward  form,  and 
the  many  great  virtues  with  which  he  has  adorned  his 
mind,  can  never  make  us  love  him.  It  may  be  ob- 
served, that  Homer  has  given  the  Trojans,  whose  fate 
he  has  designed  to  excite  our  compassion,  infinitely 
more  of  the  amiable,  social  virtues  than  he  has  dis- 
tributed among  his  Greeks.  With  regard  to  the  Tro- 
jans, the  passion  he  chooses  to  raise  is  pity ;  pity  is  a 
passion  founded  on  love  ;  and  these  lesser,  and  if  I 
may  say  domestic  virtues,  are  certainly  the  most  ami- 
able. But  he  has  made  the  Greeks  far  their  superi- 
ors in  the  politic  and  military  virtues.  The  councils 
of  Priam  are  weak  ;  the  arms  of  Hector  comparatively 
feeble  ;  his  courage  far  below  that  of  Achilles.  Yet 
we  love  Priam  more  than  Agamemnon,  and  Hector 
more  than  his  conqueror  Acliilles.  Admiration  is 
the  passion  which  Homer  would  excite  in  favor  of 
the  Greeks,  and  he  has  done  it  by  bestowing  on  them 
the  virtues  which  have  but  little  to  do  with  love. 
This  short  digression  is  perhaps  not  wholly  beside  our 
purpose,  where  our  business  is  to  show  that  objects  of 


244      ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

great  dimensions  are  incompatible  with  beauty,  the 
more  incompatible  as  they  are  greater ;  whereas  the 
small,  if  ever  they  fail  of  beauty,  this  failure  is  not  to 
be  attributed  to  their  size. 


SECTION    XXV. 

OF   COLOR. 

With  regard  to  color,  the  disquisition  is  almost  in- 
finite ;  but  I  conceive  the  principles  laid  down  in  the 
beginning  of  this  part  are  sufficient  to  account  for  the 
effects  of  them  all,  as  well  as  for  the  agreeable  effects 
of  transparent  bodies,  whether  fluid  or  solid.  Sup- 
pose I  look  at  a  bottle  of  muddy  liquor,  of  a  blue  or 
red  color ;  the  blue  or  red  rays  cannot  pass  clearly  to 
the  eye,  but  are  suddenly  and  unequally  stopped  by 
the  intervention  of  little  opaque  bodies,  which  with- 
out preparation  change  the  idea,  and  change  it  too 
into  one  disagreeable  in  its  own  nature,  conformably 
to  the  principles  laid  down  in  Sect.  24.  But  when 
the  ray  passes  without  such  opposition  through  the 
glass  or  liquor,  when  the  glass  or  liquor  is  quite  trans- 
parent, the  light  is  sometimes  softened  in  the  passage, 
wliich  makes  it  more  agreeable  even  as  light ;  and 
the  liquor  reflecting  all  the  rays  of  its  proper  color 
evenly^  it  has  such  an  effect  on  the  eye,  as  smooth 
opaque  bodies  have  on  the  eye  and  touch.  So  that 
the  pleasure  here  is  compounded  of  the  softness  of 
the  ti-ansmitted,  and  tlie  evenness  of  the  reflected 
light.  Tliis  pleasure  may  be  heiglitcncd  l)y  the  com- 
mon ))iiiicipli's  in  other  tilings,  if  the  shape  of  the 
glass  which  holds  the  transparent  liquor  bo  so  judi- 
ciously varied,  as  to  present  the  color  gradually  and 


OK   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  245 

interchangeably,  weakened  and  strengthened  with  all 
the  variety  which  judgment  in  affairs  of  this  nature 
shall  suggest.  On  a  review  of  all  that  has  been  said 
of  the  effects,  as  well  as  the  causes  of  both,  it  will  ap- 
pear that  the  sublime  and  beautiful  are  built  on  prin- 
ciples very  different,  and  that  their  affections  arc  as 
different:  the  great  has  terror  for  its  basis,  which, 
when  it  is  modified,  causes  that  emotion  in  the  mind, 
which  I  have  called  astonishment ;  the  beautiful  is 
founded  on  mere  positive  pleasure,  and  excites  in  the 
soul  that  feeling  which  is  called  love.  Their  causes 
have  made  the  subject  of  this  fourth  part. 


2-16  ON   THE  SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 


PART  V. 
SECTION    I. 

OF    "WORDS. 

Natural  objects  affect  us  by  the  laws  of  that  con- 
nection which  Providence  has  established  between  cer- 
tain motions  and  configurations  of  bodies,  and  certain 
consequent  feelings  in  our  mind.  Painting  affects  in 
the  same  manner,  but  with  the  superadded  pleasure 
of  imitation.  Architecture  affects  by  the  laws  of  na- 
ture and  the  law  of  reason  ;  from  which  latter  result 
the  rules  of  proportion,  which  make  a  work  to  be 
praised  or  censured,  in  the  whole  or  in  some  part, 
when  the  end  for  which  it  was  designed  is  or  is  not 
properly  answered.  But  as  to  words ;  they  seem  to 
me  to  affect  us  in  a  manner  very  different  from  that 
ill  which  we  are  affected  by  natural  objects,  or  by 
painting  or  architecture  ;  yet  words  have  as  consider- 
able a  share  in  exciting  ideas  of  beauty  and  of  the 
sublime  as  many  of  those,  and  sometimes  a  much 
greater  than  any  of  them ;  therefore  an  inquiry  into 
the  manner  by  which  tliey  excite  such  emotions  is  far 
from  being  unnecessary  in  a  discourse  of  this  kind. 


SECTION    II. 

TUE    COMMON    KFFKCT8    OF    FOKTUY,    NOT    IJY    RAISING 
IDFAS    OF   THINGS. 

'J'he  common  notion  of  tlie  power  of  poetry  and 
eloquence,  as  well  us  tbat  of  words  in  ordinary  con- 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  247 

versation,  is,  that  they  affect  the  mind  by  raising  in 
it  ideas  of  those  things  for  which  custom  has  ap- 
pointed them  to  stand.  To  examine  the  truth  of  tliis 
notion,  it  may  be  requisite  to  observe  that  words  may 
be  divided  into  three  sorts.  The  first  are  such  as 
represent  many  simple  ideas  united  hy  nature  to  form 
some  one  determinate  composition,  as  man,  horse, 
tree,  castle,  &c.  These  I  call  aggregate  words.  The 
second  are  they  that  stand  for  one  simple  idea  of 
such  compositions,  and  no  more ;  as  red,  blue,  round, 
square,  and  the  like.  These  I  call  simple  abstract 
words.  The  third  are  those  which  are  formed  by 
an  union,  an  arhitra/ry  union  of  both  the  others,  and 
of  the  various  relations  between  them  in  greater 
or  lesser  degrees  of  complexity ;  as  virtue,  honor, 
persuasion,  magistrate,  and  the  like.  These  I  call 
compound  abstract  words.  Words,  I  am  sensible,  are 
capable  of  being  classed  into  more  curious  distinc- 
tions ;  but  these  seem  to  be  natural,  and  enough  for 
our  purpose  ;  and  they  are  disposed  in  that  order  in 
which  they  are  commonly  taught,  and  in  which  the 
mind  gets  the  ideas  they  are  substituted  for.  I  shall 
begin  with  the  third  sort  of  words ;  compound  ab- 
stracts, such  as  virtue,  honor,  persuasion,  docility. 
Of  these  I  am  convinced,  that  whatever  power  they 
may  have  on  the  passions,  they  do  not  derive  it  from 
any  representation  raised  in  tlie  mind  of  the  things 
for  which  they  stand.  As  compositions,  they  are  not 
real  essences,  and  hardly  cause,  I  think,  any  real 
ideas.  Nobody,  I  believe,  immediately  on  hearing 
the  sounds,  virtue,  liberty,  or  honor,  conceives  any 
precise  notions  of  the  particular  modes  of  action  and 
thinking,  together  with  the  mixed  and  simple  ideas, 
and  the  several  relations  of  them  for  which  these 


248      ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

words  are  substituted ;  neither  has  he  any  general 
idea  compounded  of  them  ;  for  if  he  had,  then  some 
of  those  particular  ones,  though  indistinct  perhaps, 
and  confused,  might  come  soon  to  be  perceived. 
But  this,  I  take  it,  is  hardly  ever  the  case.  For,  put 
yourself  upon  analyzing  one  of  these  words,  and  you 
must  reduce  it  from  one  set  of  general  words  to  an- 
other, and  then  into  the  simple  abstracts  and  aggre- 
gates, in  a  much  longer  series  than  may  be  at  first 
imagined,  before  any  real  idea  emerges  to  light,  be- 
fore you  come  to  discover  anything  like  the  first  prin- 
ciples of  such  compositions  ;  and  when  you  have 
made  such  a  discovery  of  the  original  ideas,  the  effect 
of  the  composition  is  utterly  lost.  A  train  of  think- 
ing of  this  sort  is  much  too  long  to  be  pursued  in 
the  ordinary  ways  of  conversation ;  nor  is  it  at  all 
necessary  that  it  should.  Such  words  are  in  reality 
but  mere  sounds ;  but  they  are  sounds  which  being 
used  on  particular  occasions,  wherein  we  receive 
some  good,  or  suffer  some  evil ;  or  see  others  affected 
with  good  or  evil ;  or  which  we  hear  applied  to  otlier 
interesting  things  or  events ;  and  being  applied  in 
sucli  a  variety  of  cases,  that  we  know  readily  by 
habit  to  what  things  they  belong,  they  produce  in 
the  mind,  whenever  they  are  afterwards  mentioned, 
efft^cts  similar  to  those  of  their  occasions.  The  sounds 
being  often  used  without  reference  to  any  particular 
occasion,  nnd  carrying  still  their  first  impressions,  they 
at  last  utterly  lose  their  connection  with  the  particu- 
lar occasions  that  gave  rise  to  them  ;  yet  the  sound, 
without  any  annexed  notion,  continues  to  operate  as 
before. 


ON  THE   SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL.  24P 

SECTION    III. 

GENERAL    WORDS    BEFORE    IDEAS. 

Mr.  Locke  has  somewhere  observed,  with  his  usual 
sagacity,  that  most  general  words,  those  helonging  to 
virtue  and  vicp,  good  and  evil  especially,  are  taught 
before  the  particular  modes  of  action  to  which  tliey 
belong  are  presented  to  tlic  mind  ;  and  with  them, 
the  love  of  the  one,  and  the  abhorrence  of  the  other ; 
for  the  minds  of  children  are  so  ductile,  that  a  nurse, 
or  any  person  about  a  cliild,  by  seeming  pleased  or 
displeased  with  anything,  or  even  any  word,  may  give 
the  disposition  of  the  child  a  similar  turn.  When, 
afterwards,  the  several  occurrences  in  life  come  to  be 
applied  to  these  words,  and  that  which  is  pleasant  of- 
ten appears  under  the  name  of  evil ;  and  what  is  dis- 
agreeable to  nature  is  called  good  and  virtuous  ;  a 
strange  confusion  of  ideas  and  affections  arises  in  the 
minds  of  many  ;  and  an  appearance  of  no  small  con- 
tradiction between  their  notions  and  their  actions. 
There  are  many  who  love  virtue  and  who  detest  vice, 
and  this  not  from  hypocrisy  or  affectation,  who  not- 
withstanding very  frequently  act  ill  and  wickedly  in 
particulars  without  the  least  remorse ;  because  these 
particular  occasions  never  came  into  view,  when  the 
passions  on  the  side  of  virtue  were  so  warmly  affected 
by  certain  words  heated  originally  by  the  breath  of 
others ;  and  for  this  reason,  it  is  hard  to  repeat  cer- 
tain sets  of  words,  though  owned  by  tliemselves  unop- 
erative,  witliout  being  in  some  degree  affected ;  espe- 
cially if  a  warm  and  affecting  tone  of  voice  accompa- 
nies them,  as  suppose, 

Wise,  valiant,  generous,  good,  and  great. 


250       ON  THE  SUBLQIE  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

These  words,  by  having  no  application,  ought  to  be 
unoperative ;  but  when  words  commonly  sacred  to 
great  occasions  are  used,  we  are  affected  by  them 
even  without  the  occasions.  When  words  which 
have  been  generally  so  applied  are  put  together 
without  any  rational  view,  or  in  such  a  manner  that 
they  do  not  rightly  agree  with  each  other,  the  style  is 
called  bombast.  And  it  requires  in  several  cases 
much  good  sense  and  experience  to  be  giiarded 
against  the  force  of  such  language  ;  for  when  propri- 
ety is  neglected,  a  greater  number  of  these  aifecting 
words  may  be  taken  into  the  service,  and  a  greater 
variety  may  be  indulged  in  combining  them. 


SECTION    IV. 

THE    EFFECT    OF    WORDS. 

If  words  have  all  their  possible  extent  of  powei, 
three  effects  arise  in  the  mind  of  the  hearer.  The 
first  is,  the  sound;  the  second,  the  picture^  or  repre- 
sentation of  the  thing  signified  by  the  sound ;  the 
third  is,  the  affection  of  the  soul  produced  by  one  or 
by  both  of  the  foregoing.  Cojnjjounded  abstract 
words,  of  which  we  have  been  speaking,  (honor,  jus- 
tice, liberty,  and  the  like,)  produce  the  first  and  the 
last  of  these  effects,  but  not  the  second.  Simple  ab- 
stracts are  used  to  signify  some  one  simple  idea  with- 
out nuicli  adverting  to  others  which  may  chance  to 
attend  it,  as  blue,  green,  hot,  cold,  and  the  like ; 
these  are  cajjablo  of  aOecting  all  tln-ee  of  the  purposes 
of  words  ;  as  the  (i(/(/nyate  words,  man,  castle,  horse, 
<fcc.  are  in  a  yet  higher  degree.  But  1  am  of  o])in- 
ion,  that  the  most  general  effect,  even  of  these  words, 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  251 

does  not  arise  from  their  forming  pictures  of  the  sev- 
eral things  they  would  represent  in  the  imagination ; 
because,  on  a  very  diligent  examination  of  my  own 
mind,  and  getting  others  to  consider  theirs,  I  do  not 
find  that  once  in  twenty  times  any  such  picture  is 
formed,  and  when  it  is,  there  is  most  commonly  a 
particular  effort  of  the  imagination  for  that  purpose. 
But  the  aggregate  words  operate,  as  I  said  of  the 
compound-abstracts,  not  by  presenting  any  image  to 
the  mind,  but  by  having  from  use  the  same  effect  on 
being  mentioned,  that  their  original  has  when  it  is 
seen.     Suppose  we  were  to  read  a  passage  to  this 
effect :    "  The   river   Danube   rises   in   a   moist   and 
mountainous  soil  in  the  heart  of  Germany,  where, 
winding  to  and  fro,  it  waters  several  principalities, 
until,  turning  into  Austria,  and  laving  the  walls  of 
Vienna,  it  passes  into  Hungary;   there  with  a  vast 
flood,  augmented   by   the    Save   and   the  Drave,  it 
quits  Christendom,  and  rolling  through  the  barbar- 
ous countries  which  border  on  Tartary,  it  enters  by 
many  mouths  in  the  Black  Sea."     In  this  description 
many  things  are  mentioned,  as  mountains,  rivers,  cit- 
ies, the  sea,  &c.     But  let  anybody  examine  himself, 
and  see  whether  he  has  had  impressed  on  his  imagi- 
nation any  pictures  of  a  river,  mountain,  watery  soil, 
Germany,  &c.    Indeed  it  is  impossible,  in  the  rapidity 
and  quick  succession  of  words  in  conversation,  to  have 
ideas  both  of  the  sound  of  the  word,  and  of  the  thino- 
represented ;   besides,   some   words,  expressing   real 
esseiices,  are  so  mixed  with  others  of  a  general  and 
nominal  import,  tliat  it  is  impracticable  to  jump  from 
sense  to  thought,  from  particulars  to  generals,  from 
things  to  words,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  answer  the 
purposes  of  life ;  nor  is  it  necessary  that  we  should. 


252  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 


SE  CTION    V. 

EXAMPLES    THAT  WORDS    MAY   AFFECT    WITHOUT   RAISING 

IMAGES. 

I  FIND  it  very  hard  to  persuade  several  that  their 
passions  are  affected  by  words  from  whence  tliey  have 
no  ideas ;  and  yet  harder  to  convince  them  that  in 
the  ordinary  course  of  conversation  we  are  sufficiently 
understood  without  raising  any  images  of  the  things 
concerning  which  we  speak.  It  seems  to  be  an  odd 
subject  of  dispute  with  any  man,  whether  he  has  ideas 
in  his  mind  or  not.  Of  this,  at  first  view,  every  man, 
in  his  own  forum,  ought  to  judge  without  appeal. 
But,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  we  are  often  at  a  loss 
to  know  what  ideas  we  have  of  things,  or  whether  we 
have  any  ideas  at  all  upon  some  subjects.  It  even 
requires  a  good  deal  of  attention  to  be  thoroughly 
satisfied  on  this  head.  Since  I  wrote  these  papers,  I 
found  two  very  striking  instances  of  the  possibility 
there  is,  that  a  man  may  hear  words  without  having 
any  idea  of  the  things  which  they  represent,  and  yet 
afterwards  be  capable  of  returning  them  to  others, 
combined  in  a  new  way,  and  with  great  propriety,  en- 
ergy, and  instruction.  The  first  instance  is  that  of 
Mr.  Blacklock,  a  poet  blind  from  his  birth.  Few  men 
blessed  with  tlie  most  perfect  sight  can  describe  visual 
objects  witli  more  spirit  and  justness  than  tbis  blind 
man  ;  w'hich  cannot  possil^ly  be  attributed  to  his  liav- 
iiig  a  clearer  conception  of  the  things  he  describes 
tban  is  connnon  to  otbcr  persons.  Mr.  Spence,  in  an 
elegant  jircfacc  wbich  he  lias  written  to  the  works  of 
this  poet,  reasons  very  ing(iniously,  and,  1  imagine, 
for  the  most  part,  very  rigbtly,  upon  the  cause  of  this 


ON    THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL.  253 

extraordinary  phenomenon ;  but  I  cannot  altogether 
agree  with  liiin,  that  some  improprieties  in  language 
and  thought,  which  occur  in  these  poems,  have  arisen 
from  the  blind  poet's  imperfect  conception  of  visual 
objects,  since  such  improprieties,  and  much  greater, 
may  be  found  in  writers  even  of  a  higher  class  than 
Mr.  Blacklock,  and  who,  notwithstanding,  possessed 
the  faculty  of  seeing  in  its  full  perfection.  Here  is  a 
poet  doubtless  as  much  affected  by  his  own  descrip- 
tions as  any  that  reads  them  can  be  ;  and  yet  he  is  af- 
fected with  this  strong  enthusiasm  by  things  of  which 
he  neither  has,  nor  can  possibly  have,  any  idea  fur- 
ther than  that  of  a  bare  sound :  and  why  may  not 
those  who  read  his  works  be  affected  in  the  same 
manner  that  he  was ;  with  as  little  of  any  real  ideas 
of  tlie  things  described  ?  The  second  instance  is  of 
Mr.  Saunderson,  professor  of  mathematics  in  the 
University  of  Cambridge.  This  learned  man  had 
acquired  great  knowledge  in  natural  philosophy,  in 
astronomy,  and  whatever  sciences  depend  upon  math- 
ematical skill.  What  was  the  most  extraordinary 
and  the  most  to  my  purpose,  he  gave  excellent  lec- 
tures upon  liglit  and  colors ;  and  this  man  taught 
others  the  theory  of  those  ideas  which  they  had,  and 
which  he  himself  undoubtedly  had  not.  But  it  is 
probable  that  the  words  red,  blue,  green,  answered  to 
him  as  well  as  the  ideas  of  the  colors  themselves ;  for 
the  ideas  of  greater  or  lesser  degrees  of  refrangibility 
being  applied  to  these  words,  and  the  blind  man  be- 
ing instructed  in  what  other  respects  they  were  found 
to  agree  or  to  disagree,  it  was  as  easy  for  him  to  rea- 
son upon  the  words  as  if  he  had  been  fully  master  of 
the  ideas.  Indeed  it  must  be  owned  he  could  make 
no  new  discoveries  in  the  way  of  experiment.     He 


254  ON   THE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

did  nothing  but  what  we  do  every  day  in  common  dis- 
course.    When  I  wrote  this  last  sentence,  and  used 
the  words  every  day  and  common  discou?'se,  I  had  no 
images  in  my  mind  of  any  succession  of  time  ;  nor  of 
men  in  conference  with  each  other ;  nor  do  I  imagine 
that  the  reader  will  have  any  such  ideas  on  reading 
it.     Neither  when  I  spoke  of  red,  or  blue,  and  green, 
as  well  as  refrangibility,  had  I  these  several  colors, 
or  the  rays  of  light  passing  into  a  different  medium, 
and  there  diverted  from  their  course,  painted  before 
me  in  the  way  of  images.     I  know  very  well  that  the 
mind  possesses  a  faculty  of  raising  such  images  at 
pleasure  ;  but  then  an  act  of  the  will  is  necessary  to 
this ;  and  in  ordinary  conversation   or  reading  it  is 
very  rarely  that  any  image  at  all  is  excited  in  the 
mind.     If  I  say,  "  I  shall  go  to  Italy  next  summer," 
I  am  well  understood.     Yet  I  believe  nobody  has  by 
this  painted  in  his  imagination  the  exact  figure  of  the 
speaker  passing  by  land  or  by  water,  or  both  ;  some- 
times on  liorseback,  sometimes  in  a  carriage  :  with 
all  the  particulars  of  the  journey.     Still  less  has  he 
any  idea  of  Italy,  the  country  to  which  I  proposed  to 
go  ;  or  of  the  greenness  of  the  fields,  the  ripening  of 
the  fruits,  and  the  warmth  of  tlie  air,  witli  the  change 
to  this  from  a  different  season,  wliich  are  the  ideas 
for  which  the  word  summer  is  substituted  ;  but  least 
of  all  has  lie  any  image  from  tlie  word  next ;  for  this 
word  stands  ibr  the  idea  of  many  summers,  with  the 
exclusion  of  all  but  one :  and  surely  the  man  who 
says  next  summer  has  no  images  of  such  a  succession, 
and  such  an  exclusion.     In  short,  it  is  not  only  of 
those  ideas  which  are  commonly  called  abstract,  and 
of  which  no  image  at  all  can  be  fonmul,  l)Mt  even  of 
particular,  real  beings,  that  we  converse  witiiout  hav 


ON   THE   SirBLIME    AND   BEAUTIFUL.  255 

ing  any  idea  of  them  excited  in  the  imagination  ;  as 
will  certainly  appear  on  a  diligent  examination  of  our 
own  minds.  Indeed,  so  little  does  poetry  depend  for 
its  effect  on  the  power  of  raising  sensible  images,  that 
I  am  convinced  it  wonld  lose  a  very  considerable  part 
of  its  energy,  if  this  were  the  necessary  result  of  all 
description.  Because  that  union  of  affecting  words, 
which  is  the  most  powerful  of  all  poetical  instru- 
ments, would  frequently  lose  its  force  along  with  its 
propriety  and  consistency,  if  the  sensible  images  were 
always  excited.  There  is  not,  perhaps,  in  the  whole 
^Eneid  a  more  grand  and  labored  passage  than  the 
description  of  Vulcan's  cavern  in  Etna,  and  the 
works  that  are  there  carried  on.  Virgil  dwells  par- 
ticularly on  the  formation  of  the  thunder  which  he 
describes  unfinished  under  the  hammers  of  the  Cy- 
clops. But  what  are  the  principles  of  this  extraor- 
dinary composition  ? 

Tres  imbris  torti  radios,  tres  nubis  aquosae 
Addiderant ;  rutili  tres  ignis,  et  alitis  austri : 
Fulgores  nunc  terrificos,  sonitumque,  metumque 
Miscebant  operi,  flammisque  sequacibus  iras. 

This  seems  to  me  admirably  sublime :  yet  if  we  at- 
tend coolly  to  the  kind  of  sensible  images  which  a 
combination  of  ideas  of  this  sort  must  form,  the  chi- 
meras of  madmen  cannot  appear  more  wild  and  ab- 
surd than  such  a  picture.  "  Three  rays  of  tivisted 
showers,  three  of  ivatery  clouds,  three  of  fire,  and  three 
of  the  winged  south  wind  ;  then  mixed  they  in  the  loorh 
terrific  lightnings,  and  sound,  and  fear,  and  anger,  with 
pursuing  flames y  This  strange  composition  is  formed 
into  a  gross  body  ;  it  is  hammered  by  the  Cyclops,  it 
is  in  part  polished,  and  partly  continues  rough.  The 
truth  is,  if  poetry  gives  us  a  noble  assemblage  of 


256'  ON    TUE    SUBLIME    AND    BEAUTIFUL. 

wordtj  corresponding  to  many  noble  ideas,  which  are 
connected  by  circumstances  of  time  or  place,  or  re 
lated  to  each  other  as  cause  and  effect,  or  associated 
in  any  natural  way,  they  may  be  moulded  together 
in  any  form,  and  perfectly  answer  their  end.  The 
picturesque  connection  is  not  demanded  ;  because  no 
real  picture  is  formed  ;  nor  is  the  effect  of  the  de- 
scription at  all  the  less  upon  this  account.  What  is 
said  of  Helen  by  Priam  and  the  old  men  of  his  coun- 
cil, is  generally  thought  to  give  us  the  highest  possi- 
ble idea  of  that  fatal  beauty. 

Oil  j/e/xeats,  Tfjaias  (cat  evKvfjfn8ai  'Axaiovs 
Totfjd  afi(pL  yvvaiKi  iroXvv  )(pm'ov  liXyea  nd(T\tiv' 
Alvbis  ddavdrrjai  deijs  (Is  anra  foiKfv. 

"  Thoy  cried,  No  wonder  such  celestial  charms 
For  nine  long  years  have  set  the  world  in  arms  ; 
What  winning  graces  !  what  majestic  mien  ! 
She  moves  a  goddess,  and  she  looks  a  queen." 

Pope. 

Here  is  not  one  word  said  of  the  particulars  of  her 
beauty  ;  nothing  which  can  in  the  least  help  us  to 
any  precise  idea  of  her  person  ;  but  yet  we  are  much 
more  touched  by  this  manner  of  mentioning  her, 
than  by  those  long  and  labored  descriptions  of  Helen, 
whether  lianded  down  by  tradition,  or  formed  by 
fancy,  which  are  to  be  met  witli  in  some  authors. 
I  am  sure  it  affects  me  much,  more  than  the  minute 
description  wbich  Spenser  has  given  of  Eolphcbc  ; 
though  I  own  that  there  are  parts,  in  that  descrij)- 
tion,as  there  are  in  all  the  descriptions  of  tliat  excel- 
lent writer,  extremely  fine  and  jioeticnl.  The  terri- 
ble picture  which  Tjucretins  has  drawn  of  religion  in 
order  to  display  Hk;  magnanimity  of  his  phihisophical 
hero  in  opj)osing  her,  is  thonght  to  be  d(!signe(l  with 
great  boldness  and  sj)irit :  — 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  257 

Humana  ante  oculos  foed^  cum  vitajaceret, 
In  terris,  oppressa  gravi  sub  religione, 
Quae  caput  e  coeli  regionibus  ostendebat 
Horribili  super  aspectu  mortalibus  instans ; 
Primus  Graius  homo  mortales  tollere  contra 
Est  oculos  ausus. 

What  idea  do  you  derive  from  so  excellent  a  picture  ? 
none  at  all,  most  certainly :  neither  has  the  poet  said 
a  single  word  which  might  in  the  least  serve  to  mark 
a  single  limb  or  feature  of  the  phantom,  which  he 
intended  to  represent  in  all  the  horrors  imagination 
can  conceive.  Li  reality,  poetry  and  rhetoric  do  not 
succeed  in  exact  description  so  well  as  painting  does  ; 
their  business  is,  to  affect  rather  by  sympathy  than 
imitation  ;  to  display  rather  the  effect  of  things  on 
the  mind  of  the  speaker,  or  of  others,  than  to  present 
a  clear  idea  of  the  things  themselves.  This  is  their 
most  extensive  province,  and  that  in  which  they  suc- 
ceed the  best. 


SE  CTION    VI. 

POETRT   NOT    STRICTLY    AN    IMITATIVE    ART. 

Hence  we  may  observe  that  poetry,  taken  in  its 
most  general  sense,  cannot  with  strict  propriety  be 
called  an  art  of  imitation.  It  is  indeed  an  imitation 
so  far  as  it  describes  the  manners  and  passions  of  men 
which  their  words  can  express  ;  where  animi  motus 
effert  interprete  lingua.  There  it  is  strictly  imitation  ; 
and  all  merely  dramatic  poetry  is  of  this  sort.  But 
descriptive  poetry  operates  chiefly  by  substitution  ;  by 
the  means  of  sounds,  which  by  custom  have  the  effect 
of  realities.  Nothing  is  an  imitation  furtlier  than  as 
it  resembles  some  other  thing ;  and  words  undoubt- 

VOL.  I.  17 


258       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

edly  have  no  sort  of  resemblance  to  the  ideas  for 
which  they  stand. 


SECTION    VII. 

HOW   WORDS    INFLUENCE   THE   PASSIONS. 

Now,  as  words  affect,  not  by  any  original  power, 
but  by  representation,  it  might  be  supposed,  that  their 
influence  over  the  passions  should  be  but  light ;  yet 
it  is  quite  otherwise  ;  for  we  find  by  experience,  that 
eloquence  and  poetry  are  as  capable,  nay  indeed 
much  more  capable,  of  making  deep  and  lively  im- 
pressions than  any  other  arts,  and  even  than  nature 
itself  in  very  many  cases.  And  this  arises  chiefly 
from  these  three  causes.  First,  that  we  take  an  ex- 
traordinary part  in  the  passions  of  others,  and  that 
we  are  easily  affected  and  brought  into  sympathy  by 
any  tokens  which  are  shown  of  them  ;  and  there  are 
no  tokens  which  can  express  all  the  circumstances  of 
most  passions  so  fully  as  words  ;  so  that  if  a  person 
speaks  upon  any  subject,  he  can  not  only  convey  the 
subject  to  you,  but  likewise  the  manner  in  which  he 
is  himself  affected  by  it.  Certain  it  is,  that  the  in- 
fluence of  most  things  on  our  passions  is  not  so  much 
from  the  things  themselves,  as  from  our  opinions  con- 
cerning them  ;  and  these  again  depend  very  much  on 
the  opinions  of  other  men,  conveyable  for  the  most 
part  by  words  only.  Secondly,  there  are  many  things 
of  a  very  affecting  nature,  wliich  can  seldom  occur  in 
the  reality,  but  tiio  words  that  represent  them  often 
do;  and  tlm.s  they  have  an  opportunity  of  making  a 
deep  imj)ression  and  taking  root  in  the  mind,  whilst 
the  idea  of  the  reality  was  transient;  and  to  some 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  259 

perhaps  never  really  occurred  in  any  shape,  to  whom 
it  is  notwithstanding  very  affecting,  as  war,  death, 
famine,  &c.  Besides  many  ideas  have  never  been  at 
all  presented  to  the  senses  of  any  men  but  by  words, 
as  God,  angels,  devils,  heaven,  and  hell,  all  of  which 
have  however  a  great  influence  over  the  passions. 
Thirdly,  by  words  we  have  it  in  our  power  to  make 
such  combinations  as  we  cannot  possibly  do  otherwise. 
By  this  power  of  combining  we  are  able,  by  the  addi- 
tion of  well-chosen  circumstances,  to  give  a  new  life 
and  force  to  the  simple  object.  In  painting  we  may 
represent  any  fine  figure  we  please  ;  but  we  never  can 
give  it  those  enlivening  touches  which  it  may  receive 
from  words.  To  represent  an  angel  in  a  picture,  you 
can  only  draw  a  beautiful  young  man  winged :  but 
what  painting  can  furnish  out  anything  so  grand  as 
the  addition  of  one  word,  "  the  angel  of  the  Lord  "  P 
It  is  true,  I  have  here  no  clear  idea  ;  but  these 
words  affect  the  mind  more  than  the  sensible  image 
did  ;  which  is  all  I  contend  for.  A  picture  of  Priam 
dragged  to  the  altar's  foot,  and  there  murdered,  if  it 
were  well  executed,  would  undoubtedly  be  very  mov- 
ing ;  but  there  are  very  aggravating  circumstances, 
which  it  could  never  represent : 

Sanguine  foedantem  quos  ipse  sacraverat  ignes. 

As  a  further  instance,  let  us  consider  those  lines  of 
Milton,  where  he  describes  the  travels  of  the  fallen 
angels  through  their  dismal  habitation  : 

"  O'er  many  a  dark  and  dreary  vale 
They  passed,  and  many  a  region  dolorous ; 
O'er  many  a  frozen,  many  a  fiery  Alp ; 
Rocks,  caves,  lakes,  fens,  bogs,  dens,  and  shades  of  death, 
A  universe  of  death." 

Here  is  displayed  the  force  of  union  in 


260       ON  THE  SUBLIME  AND  BEAUTIFUL. 

"  Rocks,  caves,  lakes,  dens,  bogs,  fens,  and  shades  "  • 

which  yet  would  lose  the  greatest  part  of  their  efifect, 
if  they  were  not  the 

"  Rocks,  caves,  lakes,  dens,  bogs,  fens,  and  shades  —  of  Death," 

This  idea  or  this  affection  caused  by  a  word,  which 
nothing  but  a  word  could  annex  to  the  others,  raises 
a  very  great  degree  of  the  sublime,  and  this  sublime 
is  raised  yet  higher  by  what  follows,  a  "  universe  of 
deaths  Here  are  again  two  ideas  not  presentable 
but  by  language,  and  an  union  of  them  great  and 
amazing  beyond  conception  ;  if  they  may  properly  be 
called  ideas  which  present  no  distinct  image  to  the 
mind ;  but  still  it  will  be  difficult  to  conceive  how 
words  can  move  the  passions  which  belong  to  real 
objects,  without  representing  these  objects  clearly. 
This  is  difficult  to  us,  because  we  do  not  sufficiently 
distinguish,  in  our  observations  upon  language,  be- 
tween a  clear  expression  and  a  strong  expression. 
These  are  frequently  confounded  with  each  other, 
though  they  are  in  reality  extremely  diffijrent.  The 
former  regards  the  understanding,  the  latter  belongs  to 
the  passions.  The  one  describes  a  thing  as  it  is,  the 
latter  describes  it  as  it  is  felt.  Now,  as  there  is  a  mov- 
ing tone  of  voice,  an  impassioned  countenance,  an  agi- 
tated gesture,  wiiich  affect  independently  of  the  things 
about  which  they  are  exerted,  so  there  are  words,  and 
certain  dispositions  of  words,  which  being  peculiarly 
devoted  to  passionate  subjects,  and  always  used  by 
tliose  who  are  under  the  influence  of  any  passion, 
touch  and  move  us  more  than  tliose  which  far  more 
clearly  and  distinctly  exi)r('ss  tlie  subject-matter.  We 
yield  to  sympathy  what  we  refuse  to  descrij)tion.  The 
truth  is,  all  verbal  description,  merely  as  luiked  de- 


ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND    BEAUTIFUL.  261 

scription,  though  never  so  exact,  conveys  so  poor  and 
insufficient  an  idea  of  the  thing  described,  that  it  could 
scarcely  have  the  smallest  effect,  if  the  speaker  did 
not  call  in  to  his  aid  those  modes  of  speech  that  mark 
a  strong  and  lively  feeling  in  himself.  Then,  by  the 
contagion  of  our  passions,  we  catch  a  fire  ah-eady  kin- 
dled in  another,  which  probably  might  never  have 
been  struck  out  by  the  object  described.  Words,  by 
strongly  conveying  the  passions  by  those  means  which 
we  have  already  mentioned,  fully  compensate  for 
their  weakness  in  other  respects.  It  may  be  observed, 
that  very  polished  languages,  and  such  as  are  praised 
for  their  superior  clearness  and  perspicuity,  are  gen- 
erally deficient  in  strength.  The  French  language 
has  that  perfection  and  that  defect.  Whereas  the 
Oriental  tongues,  and  in  general  the  languages  of 
most  unpolished  people,  have  a  great  force  and  ener- 
gy of  expression,  and  this  is  but  natural.  Unculti- 
vated people  are  but  ordinary  observers  of  things, 
and  not  critical  in  distinguishing  them ;  but,  for  that 
reason  they  admire  more,  and  are  more  affected  with 
what  they  see,  and  therefore  express  themselves  in  a 
warmer  and  more  passionate  manner.  If  the  affec- 
tion be  well  conveyed,  it  will  work  its  effect  without 
any  clear  idea,  often  without  any  idea  at  all  of  the 
thing  which  has  originally  given  rise  to  it. 

It  might  be  expected,  from  the  fertility  of  the  sub- 
ject, that  I  should  consider  poetry,  as  it  regards  the 
sublime  and  beautiful,  more  at  large  ;  but  it  must  be 
observed,  that  in  this  light  it  has  been  often  and  well 
handled  already.  It  was  not  my  design  to  enter  into 
the  criticism  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful  in  any  art, 
but  to  attempt  to  lay  down  such  principles  as  may 
tend  to  ascertain,  to  distinguish,  and  to  form  a  sort 


262  ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 

of  standard  for  them ;  which  purposes  I  thought 
might  be  best  effected  by  au  inquiry  into  the  proper- 
ties of  such  tilings  in  nature,  as  raise  love  and  aston- 
ishment in  us  ;  and  by  showing  in  what  manner  they 
operated  to  produce  these  passions.  Words  were  only 
so  far  to  be  considered  as  to  show  upon  what  princi- 
ple they  were  capable  of  being  the  representatives  of 
these  natural  things,  and  by  what  powers  they  were 
able  to  affect  us  often  as  strongly  as  the  things  they 
represent,  and  sometimes  much  more  strongly. 


SHORT    ACCOUNT 


OF 


A  LATE  SHORT  ADMINISTRATION. 


1766. 


SHORT    ACCOUNT 


OP 


A  LATE  SHORT  ADMINISTRATION. 


THE  late  administration  came  into  employment, 
under  the  mediation  of  the  Duke  of  Cumber- 
land, on  the  tenth  day  of  July,  1765  ;  and  was  re- 
moved, upon  a  plan  settled  by  the  Earl  of  Chatham, 
on  the  thirtieth  day  of  July,  1766,  having  lasted  just 
one  year  and  twenty  days. 

In  that  space  of  time 

The  distractions  of  the  British  empire  were  com- 
posed, by  the  repeal  of  the  American  stamp  act; 

But  the  constitutional  superiority  of  Great  Britain 
was  preserved  by  the  act  for  securing  the  dependence 
of  the  colonies. 

Private  houses  were  relieved  from  the  jurisdiction 
of  the  excise,  by  the  repeal  of  the  cider  tax. 

The  personal  liberty  of  the  subject  was  confirmed, 
by  the  resolution  against  general  warrants. 

The  lawful  secrets  of  business  and  friendship  were 
rendered  inviolable,  by  the  resolution  for  condemning 
the  seizure  of  papers. 

The  trade  of  America  was  set  free  from  injudicious 
and  ruinous  impositions,  —  its  revenue  was  improved, 
and  settled  upon  a  rational  foundation,  —  its  com- 


7 


266  A   SHORT   ACCOUNT   OP 

merce  extended  with  foreign  countries ;  while  all 
the  advantages  were  secured  to  Great  Britain,  by  the 
act  for  repealing  certain  duties,  and  encouraging,  regur 
lating,  and  securing  the  trade  of  this  kingdotn,  and  the 
British  dominions  in  America. 

Materials  were  provided  and  insured  to  our  man- 
ufactures,—  the  sale  of  these  manufactures  was  in- 
creased,—  the  African  trade  preserved  and  extended, 
—  the  principles  of  the  act  of  navigation  pursued, 
and  the  plan  improved,  —  and  the  trade  for  bullion 
rendered  free,  secure,  and  permanent,  by  the  act  for 
opening  certain  ports  in  Dominica  and  Jamaica. 

That  administration  was  the  first  which  proposed 
and  encouraged  public  meetings  and  free  consulta- 
tions of  merchants  from  all  parts  of  the  kingdom  ;  by 
which  means  the  truest  lights  have  been  received  ; 
great  benefits  have  been  already  derived  to  manufac- 
tures and  commerce  ;  and  the  most  extensive  pros- 
pects are  opened  for  further  improvement. 

Under  them,  the  interests  of  our  northern  and 
southern  colonies,  before  that  time  jarring  and  dis- 
sonant, were  understood,  compared,  adjusted,  and 
perfectly  reconciled.  The  passions  and  animosities 
of  the  colonies,  by  judicious  and  lenient  measures, 
were  allayed  and  composed,  and  the  foundation  laid 
for  a  lasting  agreement  amongst  them. 

Wliilst  that  administration  provided  for  the  liberty 
and  commerce  of  their  country,  as  the  true  basis  of 
its  power,  they  consulted  its  interests,  they  asserted 
its  honor  abroad,  with  temper  and  with  firmness  ; 
by  making  an  advantageous  treaty  of  commerce  with 
Russia;  by  obtaining  a  liquidation  of  (be  Canada 
bills,  to  tbo  satisfaction  of  tbo  proi)rictors  ;  by  reviv- 
ing and   raising   from  its  ashes   tbo   negotiation   for 


A  LATE  SHOET  ADMINISTEATION.  2b7 

the  Manilla  ransom,  which  had  been  extinguished 
and  abandoned  by  their  predecessors. 

They  treated  their  sovereign  with  decency ;  with 
reverence.  They  discountenanced,  and,  it  is  hoped, 
forever  abolished,  the  dangerous  and  unconstitutional 
practice  of  removing  military  officers  for  their  votes 
in  Parliament.  They  firmly  adhered  to  those  friends 
of  liberty,  who  had  run  all  hazards  in  its  cause  ;  and 
provided  for  them  in  preference  to  every  other  claim. 

With  the  Earl  of  Bute  they  had  no  personal  connec- 
tion ;  no  correspondence  of  councils.  They  neither 
courted  liim  nor  persecuted  him.  They  practised 
no  corruption  ;  nor  were  they  even  suspected  of  it. 
They  sold  no  offices.  They  obtained  no  reversions 
or  pensions,  either  coming  in  or  going  out,  for  them 
selves,  their  families,  or  their  dependents. 

In  the  prosecution  of  their  measures  they  were 
traversed  by  an  opposition  of  a  new  and  singular 
character  ;  an  opposition  of  placemen  and  pensioners. 
They  were  supported  by  the  confidence  of  the  nation. 
And  having  held  their  offices  under  many  difficulties 
and  discouragements,  they  left  them  at  the  express 
command,  as  they  had  accepted  them  at  the  earnest 
request,  of  their  royal  master. 

These  are  plain  facts  ;  of  a  clear  and  public  na- 
ture ;  neither  extended  by  elaborate  reasoning,  nor 
heightened  by  the  coloring  of  eloquence.  They  are 
the  services  of  a  single  year. 

The  removal  of  that  administration  from  power  is 
not  to  them  premature  ;  since  they  were  in  office  long 
enough  to  accomplish  many  plans  of  public  utility  ; 
and,  by  their  perseverance  and  resolution,  rendered 
the  way  smooth  and  easy  to  their  successors  ;  having 
left  their  king  and  their  country  in  a  much  better 


268  ACCOUNT  OF  A  LATE  SHORT  ADMINISTRATION. 

condition  than  they  found  them.  By  the  temper  they 
manifest,  they  seem  to  have  now  no  other  wish  than 
that  their  successors  may  do  the  public  as  real  and  as 
faithful  service  as  they  have  done. 


OBSERVATIONS 

ON    A    LATE    PUBLICATION, 


INTITULED 


(( 


THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF  THE   NATION." 


"0  Tite,  si  quid  ego  adjuvero  curamve  levasso, 
QuiB  nunc  te  coquit,  et  versat  sub  pectore  fixa, 
Ecquid  erit  pretii?  " 

Enn.  ap.  Cic. 


1769. 


OBSERVATIONS 

ON    A   LATE    PUBLICATION, 


INTITULED 


"THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF   THE   NATION.'^ 


PARTY  divisions,  whether  on  the  whole  operating 
for  good  or  evil,  are  things  inseparable  from  free 
government.  This  is  a  truth  which,  I  believe,  admits 
little  dispute,  having  been  established  by  the  uniform 
experience  of  all  ages.  The  part  a  good  citizen  ought ' 
to  take  in  these  divisions  has  been  a  matter  of  much 
deepet  controversy.  But  God  forbid  that  any  contro- 
versy relating  to  our  essential  morals  should  admit  of 
no  decision.  It  appears  to  me,  that  this  question, ' 
like  most  of  the  others  which  regard  our  duties  in 
life,  is  to  be  determined  l)y  our  station  in  it.  Private 
men  may  be  wholly  neutral,  and  entirely  innocent : 
but  they  who  are  legally  invested  with  public  trust, 
or  stand  on  the  high  ground  of  rank  and  dignity, 
which  is  trust  implied,  can  hardly  in  any  case  remain 
indifferent,  without  the  certainty  of  sinking  into  in- 
significance ;  and  thereby  in  effect  deserting  that  post 
in  which,  with  the  fullest  authority,  and  for  the  wis- 
est purposes,  the  laws  and  institutions  of  their  coun- 
try have  fixed  them.  However,  if  it  be  the  office  of 
those  who  are  thus  circumstanced,  to  take  a  decided 
part,  it  is  no  less  their  duty  that  it  should  be  a  sober 
one.     It  ought  to  be  circumscribed  by  the  same  laws 


272  OBSERVATIONS   ON  A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

of  decorum,  and  balanced  by  the  same  temper,  which 
bound  and  regulate  all  the  virtues.  In  a  word,  we 
lought  to  act  in  party  with  all  the  moderation  which 
does  not  absolutely  enervate  that  vigor,  and  quench 
that  fervency  of  spirit,  without  which  the  best  wishes 
for  the  public  good  must  evaporate  in  empty  specula- 
Uion. 

It  is  probably  from  some  such  motives  that  the 
'friends  of  a  very  respectable  party  in  this  kingdom 
have  been  hitherto  silent.  For  these  two  years  past, 
from  one  and  the  same  quarter  of  politics,  a  continual 
fire  has  been  kept  upon  them  ;  sometimes  from  the 
unwieldy  column  of  quartos  and  octavos  ;  sometimes 
from  the  light  squadrons  of  occasional  pamphlets  and 
flying  sheets.  Every  month  has  brought  on  its  peri- 
odical calumny.  The  abuse  has  taken  every  shape 
which  the  ability  of  the  writers  could  give  it ;  plain 
invectiv^.,  clumsy  raillery,  misrepresented  anecdote.* 
No  method  of  vilifying  the  measures,  the  abilities,  the 
intentions,  or  the  persons  which  compose  that  body, 
has  been  omitted. 

On  their  part  nothing  was  opposed  but  patience 
and  character.  It  was  a  matter  of  the  most  serious 
and  indignant  affliction  to  persons  who  thought  them- 
selves in  conscience  bound  to  oppose  a  ministry  dan- 
gerous from  its  very  constitution,  as  well  as  its 
measures,  to  find  themselves,  whenever  they  faced 
their  adversaries,  continually  attacked  on  the  rear  by 
a  set  of  men  who  pretended  to  be  actuated  by  mo- 
tives similar  to  theirs.  They  saw  that  the  plan  long 
pursued,  with  l>ut  too  fatal  a  success,  was  to  break 
the  strength  of  tliis  kingdom,  by  frittering  down  the 

*   History  of  the  Miiiority.     History  of  tin.-  Ui-pcul  of  the  Stixinp  Act. 
Conflideriitions  on  Tnuli-  aini  Finance.      I'oliticiil  Register,  &c.,  &c. 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF   igE   NATION.        273 

bodies  which  compose  it,  hj  fomenting  bitter  and 
sanguinary  animosities,  and  by  dissolving  every  tie 
of  social  affection  and  public  trust.  These  virtuous 
men,  sucli  I  am  warranted  by  public  opinion  to  call 
them,  were  resolved  rather  to  endure  everything, 
than  co-operate  in  that  design.  A  diversity  of  opin- 
ion upon  almost  every  principle  of  politics  had  in- 
deed drawn  a  strong  line  of  separation  between  them 
and  some  otliers.  However,  they  were  desirous  not 
to  extend  the  misfortune  by  unnecessary  bitterness  ; 
they  wished  to  prevent  a  difference  of  opinion  on  the 
commonwealth  from  festering  into  rancorous  and 
incurable  hostility.  Accordingly  they  endeavored 
that  all  past  controversies  sliould  be  forgotten  ;  and 
that  enough  for  the  day  should  be  the  evil  thereof. 
There  is  however  a  limit  at  which  forbearance  ceases 
t^HBe'a  virtue.  Men  may  tolerate  injuries  whilst 
they  are  only  personal  to  themselves.  But  it  is  not 
the  first  of  virtues  to  bear  with  moderation  the  in- 
dignities that  are  offered  to  our  country.  A  piece  i 
has  at  length  appeared,  from  the  quarter  of  all  the 
former  attacks,  which  upon  every  public  considera- 
tion demands  an  answer.  Whilst  persons  more  equal 
to  this  business  may  be  engaged  in  affairs  of  greater 
moment,  I  hope  I  shall  be  excused,  if,  in  a  few  hours 
of  a  time  not  very  important,  and  from  such  mate- 
rials as  I  have  by  me  (more  than  enough  however  for 
this  purpose),  I  undertake  to  set  the  facts  and  argu- 
ments of  this  wonderful  performance  in  a  proper 
light.  I  will  endeavor  to  state  what  this  piece  is ; ' 
tlie  purpose  for  which  I  take  it  to  have  been  written  ; 
and  the  effects  (supposing  it  should  have  any  effect, 
at  all)  it  must  necessarily  produce. 

This  piece  is  called  "  The  Present  State  of  the 

VOL.  I.  18 


274  OBSERVATIONS    OX    A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

Nation."  It  may  be  considered  as  a  sort  of  digest  of 
the  avowed  maxims  of  a  certain  political  school,  the 
effects  of  whose  doctrines  and  practices  this  country 
will  feci  long  and  severely.  It  is  made  up  of  a  far- 
rago of  almost  every  topic  which  has  been  agitated  on 
national  affairs  in  parliamentary  debate,  or  private 
conversation,  for  these  last  seven  years.  The  oldest 
controversies  are  hauled  out  of  the  dust  with  which 
time  and  neglect  had  covered  them.  Arguments  ten 
times  repeated,  a  thousand  times  answered  before, 
are  here  repeated  again.  Public  accounts  formerly 
printed  and  reprinted  revolve  once  more,  and  find 
their  old  station  in  this  sober  meridian.  All  the 
commonplace  lamcntatiows  upon  the  decay  of  trade, 
the  increase  of  taxes,  and  the  high  price  of  labor  and 
pro\'isions,  are  here  retailed  again  and  again  in  the 
same  tone  with  which  they  have  drawled  through  col- 
umns of  Gazetteers  and  Advertisers  for  a  century  to- 
gether. Paradoxes  which  affront  common  sense,  aiul 
uninteresting  barren  truths  which  generate  no  con- 
clusion, arc  thrown  in  to  augment  unwieldy  bulk, 
without  adding  anything  to  weight.  IJccause  two 
accusations  are  better  than  one,  contradictions  are 
set  staring  one  another  in  the  face,  without  even  an 
attempt  to  reconcile  them.  And,  to  give  the  whole  a 
sort  of  portentous  air  of  labor  and  information,  the 
table  of  the  House  of  Conunons  is  swept  into  this 
grand  reservoir  of  j)olitics. 

As  to  the  composition,  it  bears  a  striking  and  whim- 
sical resemblance  to  a  funeral  sermon,  not  only  in  the 
pathetic  prayer  with  which  it  concludes,  bnt  in  the 
style  and  tenor  of  the  wiiole  performance.  It  is  pitc- 
ously  doleful,  nodding  every  now  and  tlion  towards 
duliiess  ;  well  stored  with  pious  fraiuis,  and,  like  most 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF   THE   NATION.         275 

discourses  of  the  sort,  much  better  calculated  for  the 
private  advantage  of  the  preacher  than  the  edification 
of  the  hearers. 

The  author  has  indeed  so  involved  his  subject,  that 
it  is  frequently  far  from  being  easy  to  comprehend  his 
meaning.  It  is  happy  for  the  public  that  it  is  never 
difficult  to  fathom  his  design.  The  apparent  inten- 
tion of  this  author  is  to  draw  the  most  aggravated, 
hideous  and  deformed  picture  of  the  state  of  this 
country,  which  his  querulous  eloquence,  aided  by  the 
arbitrary  dominion  he  assumes  over  fact,  is  capable  of 
exhibiting.  Had  he  attributed  our  misfortunes  to 
their  true  cause,  the  injudicious  tampering  of  bold, 
improvident,  and  visionary  ministers  at  one  period, 
or  to  their  supine  negligence  and  traitorous  dissen- 
sions at  another,  the  complaint  had  been  just,  and 
might  have  been  useful.  But  far  the  greater  and 
much  the  worst  part  of  the  state  which  he  exhibits 
is  owing,  according  to  his  representation,  not  to  ac 
cidental  and  extrinsic  mischiefs  attendant  on  the 
nation,  but  to  its  radical  weakness  and  constitutional 
distempers.  All  this  however  is  not  without  purpose. 
The  author  is  in  hopes,  that,  when  we  are  fallen  into 
a  fanatical  terror  for  the  national  salvation,  we  shall 
then  be  ready  to  throw  ourselves,  —  in  a  sort  of  pre- 
cipitate trust,  some  strange  disposition  of  the  mind 
jumbled  up  of  presumption  and  despair,  —  into  the 
hands  of  the  most  pretending  and  forward  under- 
taker. One  such  undertaker  at  least  he  has  in  readi- 
ness for  our  service.  But  let  me  assure  this  gener- 
ous person,  that  however  he  may  succeed  in  exciting 
our  fears  for  the  public  danger,  he  will  find  it  hard 
indeed  to  engage  us  to  place  any  confidence  in  the 
system  he  proposes  for  our  security. 


276  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A   LATE    PUBLICATION 

\  His  undertaking  is  great.  The  purpose  of  this 
pamphlet,  at  which  it  aims  directly  or  obliquely  in 
every  page,  is  to  persuade  the  public  of  three  or  four 
of  the  most  difficult  points  in  the  world,  —  that  all  the 
advantages  of  the  late  war  were  on  the  part  of  the 
Bourbon  alliance ;  that  the  peace  of  Paris  perfectly 
consulted  the  dignity  and  interest  of  this  country ; 
and  that  the  American  Stamp  Act  was  a  masterpiece 
of  policy  and  finance  ;  that  the  only  good  minister 
this  nation  has  enjoyed  since  his  Majesty's  accession, 
is  the  Earl  of  Bute ;  and  the  only  good  managers  of 
revenue  we  have  seen  are  Lord  Despenser  and  Mr. 
George  Grenville  ;  and,  under  the  description  of  men 
of  virtue  and  ability,  he  holds  them  out  to  us  as  the 
only  persons  fit  to  put  our  affairs  in  order.  Let  not 
the  reader  mistake  me :  he  does  not  actually  name 
these  persons  ;  but  having  highly  applauded  their 
conduct  in  all  its  parts,  and  heavily  censured  every 
other  set  of  men  in  the  kingdom,  he  then  recom- 
mends us  to  his  men  of  virtue  and  ability. 

Such  is  the  author's  scheme.  Whether  it  will 
answer  his  purpose  I  know  not.  But  surely  that  pur- 
pose ought  to  be  a  wonderfully  good  one,  to  warrant 
the  methods  he  has  taken  to  compass  it.  If  the 
facts  and  reasonings  in  this  piece  arc  admitted,  it  is 
all  over  with  us.  The  continuance  of  our  tranquillity 
depends  upon  the  compassion  of  our  rivals.  Unable 
to  secure  to  ourselves  the  advantages  of  peace,  we 
arc  at  the  same  time  utterly  unlit  for  war.  It  is  im- 
possible, if  this  state  of  things  be  credited  abroad, 
that  we  can  liave  any  alliance;  all  nations  will  fly 
from  so  dangerous  a  connection,  lest,  instead  of  being 
partakers  of  our  strength,  they  should  only  bcconie 
bliarers  in  our  ruiri.     If  it  is  believed  at  home,  all 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    277 

that  firmness  of  mind,  and  dignified  national  courage, 
which  used  to  be  the  great  support  of  this  isle  against 
the  powers  of  the  world,  must  melt  away,  and  fail 
within  us. 

In  such  a  state  of  things  can  it  be  amiss  if  I  aim  at 
holding  out  some  comfort  to  the  nation  ;  another  sort 
of  comfort,  indeed,  than  that  which  this  writer  pro- 
vides for  it ;  a  comfort  not  from  its  physician,  but 
from  its  constitution  :  if  I  attempt  to  show  that  all 
the  arguments  upon  which  he  founds  the  decay  of 
that  constitution,  and  the  necessity  of  that  physician, 
are  vain  and  frivolous  ?  I  will  follow  the  author 
closely  in  his  own  long  career,  through  the  war,  the 
peace,  the  finances,  our  trade,  and  our  foreign  poli- 
tics :  not  for  the  sake  of  the  particular  measures 
which  he  discusses  ;  that  can  be  of  no  use  ;  they  are 
all  decided  ;  their  good  is  all  enjoyed,  or  their  evil 
incurred :  but  for  the  sake  of  the  principles  of  war, 
peace,  trade,  and  finances.  These  principles  are  of 
infinite  moment.  They  must  come  again  and  again 
under  consideration  ;  and  it  imports  the  public,  of  all 
things,  that  those  of  its  ministers  be  enlarged,  and 
just,  and  well  confirmed,  upon  all  these  subjects. 
What  notions  this  author  entertains  we  shall  see 
presently ;  notions  in  my  opinion  very  irrational,  and 
extremely  dangerous  ;  and  which,  if  they  should  crawl 
from  pamphlets  into  counsels,  and  be  realized  from 
private  speculation  into  national  measures,  cannot 
fail  of  hastening  and  completing  our  ruin. 

This  author,  after  having  paid  his  compliment  to 
the  showy  appearances  of  the  late  war  in  our  favor,  is 
in  the  utmost  haste  to  tell  you  that  these  appearances 
were  fallacious,  that  they  were  no  more  than  an  un- 
position, — I  fear  I  must  trouble  the  reader  with  a 


278  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE    PUBLICATION 

pretty  long  quotation,  in  order  to  set  before  him  tlie 
more  clearly  this  author's  peculiar  way  of  conceiving 
and  reasoning  : 

"  Happily  (the  K.)  was  then  advised  by  ministers, 
who  did  not  suffer  themselves  to  be  dazzled  by  the 
glare  of  brilliant  appearances  ;  but,  knowing  them  to 
be  fallacious^  they  wisely  resolved  to  profit  of  their 
splendor  before  our  enemies  should  also  discover  the 
imposition.  —  The  increase  in  the  exports  was  found 
to  have  been  occasioned  chiefly  by  the  demands  of 
our  own  fleets  and  armies,  and,  instead  of  bringing 
wealth  to  the  nation,  was  to  be  paid  for  by  oppressive 
taxes  upon  the  people  of  England.  While  the  Brit- 
ish seamen  were  consuming  on  board  our  men  of  war 
and  privateers,  foreign  ships  and  foreign  seamen  were 
employed  in  the  transportation  of  our  merchandise ; 
and  the  carrying  trade,  so  great  a  source  of  wealth 
and  marine,  was  entirely  engrossed  by  the  neutral  na- 
tions. The  number  of  British  ships  annually  arriv- 
ing in  our  ports  was  reduced  175G  sail,  containing 
92,550  tons,  on  a  medium  of  the  six  years'  war, 
compared  with  the  six  years  of  peace  preceding  it. — 
The  conquest  of  the  Havannah  had,  indeed,  stopped 
the  remittance  of  specie  from  Mexico  to  Spain ;  but 
it  had  not  enabled  England  to  seize  it :  on  the  con- 
trary, our  merchants  suffered  by  the  detention  of  tho 
galleons,  as  their  correspondents  in  Spain  were  dis- 
abled from  paying  them  for  their  goods  sent  to  America. 
The  loss  of  the  trade  to  Old  Spain  was  a  further  bar  to 
an  influx  of  specie ;  and  the  attempt  upon  Portngal 
had  not  only  dej)rived  us  of  an  import  of  l)ullion 
from  thence,  l)ut  tiio  payment  of  our  troops  employed 
in  its  defence  was  a  fresh  drain  oj)cned  for  tho  dim- 
inution   of  our   circnlaling   specie.  —  The  high  pre- 


ON   THE    PRESENT    STATE    OF   THE    NATION.         279 

mi  urns  given  for  new  loans  had  sunk  the  price  of  the 
old  stock  near  a  third  of  its  original  value  ;  so  that 
the  purchasers  had  an  ol)ligation  from  the  state  to 
repay  them  witii  an  addition  of  33  per  cent  to  their 
capital.  Every  new  loan  required  new  taxes  to  be 
imposed ;  new  taxes  must  add  to  the  price  of  our 
manufactures,  and  lessen  their  consumption  among  for- 
eigners. The  decay  of  our  trade  must  necessarily 
occasion  a  decrease  of  the  public  revenue ;  and  a  defi- 
ciency of  our  funds  must  either  be  made  up  by  fresh 
taxes,  which  would  only  add  to  the  calamity,  or  our 
national  credit  must  be  destroyed,  by  showing  the 
public  creditors  the  inability  of  the  nation  to  repay 
them  their  principal  money. — Bounties  had  already 
been  given  for  recruits  which  exceeded  the  year's 
wages  of  the  ploughman  and  reaper  ;  and  as  these 
were  exhausted,  and  husbandry  stood  still  for  want  of 
hatids,  the  manufacturers  were  next  to  be  tempted  to 
quit  the  anvil  and  the  loom  by  higher  ofi^ers.—Fra^ice, 
bankrupt  France,  had  no  such  calamities  impending 
over  her  ;  her  distresses  ivere  great,  but  they  ivere  im- 
mediate and  temporary ;  her  want  of  credit  preserved 
her  from  a  great  increase  of  debt,  arid  the  loss  of  her 
ultramarine  dominions  lessened  her  expenses.  Her  colo- 
nies had,  indeed,  put  themselves  into  the  hands  of  the 
English  ;  but  the  property  of  her  subjects  had  been  pre- 
served by  capitulations,  and  a  way  opened  for  making 
her  those  remittances  which  the  war  had  before  sus- 
pended, with  as  much  security  as  in  time  of  peace. — 
Her  armies  in  Germany  had  been  hitherto  prevented 
from  seizing  upon  Hanover  ;  but  they  continued  to 
encamp  on  the  same  ground  on  which  the  first  battle 
was  fought ;  and,  as  it  must  ever  happen  from  the 
policy  of  that  government,  the  last  troops  she  sent  into 


280  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

the  field  ivere  ahvays  found  to  he  the  best,  and  her  fre- 
quent losses  only  served  to  fill  her  regimefnts  ivitlt  better 
soldiers.  The  conquest  of  Hanover  became  therefore 
every  campaign  more  probable.  —  It  is  to  be  noted, 
that  the  French  troops  received  subsistence  only,  for 
the  last  three  years  of  the  war ;  and  that,  although 
large  arrears  were  due  to  them  at  its  conclusion,  the 
charge  was  the  less  during  its  continuance."  * 

If  any  one  be  willing  to  see  to  how  much  greater 
lengths  the  author  carries  these  ideas,  he  will  recur  to 
the  book.  This  is  sufficient  for  a  specimen  of  his 
manner  of  thinking.  I  believe  one  reflection  uni- 
formly obtrudes  itself  upon  every  reader  of  these  par- 
agraphs. For  what  purpose,  in  any  cause,  shall  we 
hereafter  contend  with  France  ?  Can  we  ever  flatter 
ourselves  that  we  shall  wage  a  more  successful  war  ? 
K,  on  our  part,  in  a  war  the  most  prosperous  we 
ever  carried  on,  by  sea  and  by  land,  and  in  every 
part  of  the  globe,  attended  with  the  unparalleled 
circumstance  of  an  immense  increase  of  trade  and 
augmentation  of  revenue ;  if  a  continued  series  of 
disappointments,  disgraces,  and  defeats,  followed  by 
public  bankniptcy,  on  the  part  of  France;  if  all 
these  still  leave  her  a  gainer  on  the  whole  bal- 
ance, will  it  not  be  downriglit  frenzy  in  us  ever 
to  look  her  in  the  face  again,  or  to  contend  Avith 
her  any,  even  the  most  essential  points,  since  victory 
and  defeat,  though  by  different  ways,  equally  con- 
duct us  to  our  ruin  ?  Sul)jcction  to  France  without 
a  struggle  will  ind(;ed  be  less  for  our  honor,  but  on 
every  princi[)le  of  our  autlior  it  nnist  be  more  for 
our  advantage.  According  to  his  representation  of 
things,  the  question  is  only  concerning  the  most  easy 

•  Pages  (1-  10. 


ON    THE   PRESENT   STATE    OP   THE    NATION.         281 

fall.  France  had  not  discovered,  our  statesman  tells 
us,  at  the  end  of  that  war,  the  trium})hs  of  defeat,  and 
the  resources  which  are  derived  from  bankruptcy. 
For  my  poor  part,  I  do  not  wonder  at  their  blind- 
ness. But  the  English  ministers  saw  furtlier.  Our 
author  has  at  lengtli  let  foreigners  also  into  the  se- 
cret, and  made  them  altogether  as  wise  as  ourselves. 
It  is  their  own  fault  if  (yulgato  imperii  arcano^  they 
are  imposed  upon  any  longer.  They  now  are  ap- 
prised of  the  sentiments  which  the  great  candidate 
for  the  government  of  this  great  empire  entertains  ; 
and  they  will  act  accordingly.  They  are  taught  our 
weakness  and  their  own  advantages. 

He  tells  the  world,*  that  if  France  carries  on  the 
war  against  us  in  Germany,  every  loss  she  sustains 
contributes  to  the  achievement  of  her  conquest.  If 
her  armies  are  three  years  unpaid,  she  is  the  less  ex- 
hausted by  expense.  If  her  credit  is  destroyed,  she 
is  the  less  oppressed  with  debt.  If  her  troops  are  cut 
to  pieces,  they  will  by  her  policy  (and  a  wonderful 
policy  it  is)  be  improved,  and  will  be  supplied  with 
much  better  men.  If  the  war  is  carried  on  in  the 
colonies,  he  tells  them  f  that  the  loss  of  her  ultra- 
marine dominions  lessens  her  expenses,  and  insures 
her  remittances :  — 

Per  damna,  per  cycles,  ab  ipso 
Ducit  opes  animumque  ferro. 

If  SO,  what  is  it  we  can  do  to  hurt  her?  —  it  will 
be  all  an  imposition,  all  fallacious.  Why,  the  result 
must  be, — 

Occidit,  occidit 
Spes  omnis,  et  fortuna  nostri 
Nominis.  , 

»  Pages  9,  10.  f  Page  9. 


282  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

The  only  way  which  the  author's  principles  leave 
for  our  escape,  is  to  reverse  our  condition  into  that  of 
France,  and  to  take  her  losing  cards  into  our  hands. 
But  though  his  principles  drive  him  to  it,  his  politics 
will  not  suffer  him  to  walk  on  this  ground.  Talking 
at  our  ease  and  of  other  countries,  we  may  bear  to  be 
diverted  with  such  speculations ;  but  in  England  we 
shall  never  be  taught  to  look  upon  the  annihilation 
of  our  trade,  the  ruin  of  our  credit,  the  defeat  of  our 
armies,  and  the  loss  of  our  ultramarine  dominions 
(whatever  the  author  may  think  of  them),  to  be  the 
liigh  road  to  prosperity  and  greatness. 

The  reader  does  not,  I  hope,  imagine  that  I  mean 
seriously  to  set  about  the  refutation  of  these  uninge- 
nious  paradoxes  and  reveries  without  imagination.  I 
state  them  only  that  we  may  discern  a  little  in  the 
questions  of  war  and  peace,  the  most  weighty  of  all 
questions,  what  is  the  wisdom  of  those  men  who  are 
held  out  to  us  as  the  only  hope  of  an  expiring  nation. 
The  present  ministry  is  indeed  of  a  strange  character : 
at  once  indolent  and  distracted.  But  if  a  ministerial 
system  should  be  formed,  actuated  by  such  maxims 
as  are  avowed  in  this  piece,  the  vices  of  the  present 
ministry  would  become  their  virtues  ;  their  indolence 
would  be  the  greatest  of  all  pul)lic  benefits,  and  a 
distraction  that  entirely  defeated  every  one  of  their 
schemes  would  be  our  only  security  from  destruction. 

To  have  stated  these  reasonings  is  enongh,  I  pre- 
sume, to  do  their  business.  But  they  are  accompa- 
nied with  facts  and  records,  which  may  seem  of  a 
little  more  weight.  I  trust,  however,  that  the  facts 
of  this  author  will  be  as  far  from  bearing  the  tonch- 
stonc,  as  his  arguments.  On  a  little  inquiry,  they 
will  be  found  as  great  an  im[)osition  as  the  successes 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    283 

they  are  meant  to  depreciate  ;  for  they  are  all  either 
false  or  fallaciously  applied  ;  or  not  in  the  least  to  the 
purpose  for  which  they  are  produced. 

First  the  author,  in  order  to  support  his  favorite 
paradox,  that  our  possession  of  the  French  colonies 
was  of  no  detriment  to  France,  lias  thought  proper  to 
inform  us,  that  *  "  they  put  themselves  into  the 
hands  of  the  English."  He  uses  the  same  assertion, 
in  nearly  the  same  words,  in  another  place  ;  f  "  her 
colonies  had  put  themselves  into  our  hands."  Now, 
in  justice,  not  only  to  fact  and  common  sense,  but  to 
the  incomparable  valor  and  perseverance  of  our  mili- 
tary and  naval  forces  thus  unhandsomely  traduced, 
I  must  tell  this  author,  that  the  French  colonies  did 
not  "  put  themselves  into  the  hands  of  the  English." 
They  were  compelled  to  submit ;  they  were  subdued 
by  dint  of  English  valor.  Will  the  five  years'  war 
carried  on  in  Canada,  in  which  fell  one  of  the  princi- 
pal hopes  of  this  nation,  and  all  the  battles  lost  and 
gained  during  that  anxious  period,  convince  this  au- 
thor of  his  mistake  ?  Let  him  inquire  of  Sir  Jeffery 
Amherst,  under  whose  conduct  that  war  was  carried 
on  ;  of  Sir  Charles  Saunders,  whose  steadiness  and 
presence  of  mind  saved  our  fleet,  and  were  so  emi- 
nently serviceable  in  the  whole  course  of  the  siege  of 
Quebec  ;  of  General  Monckton,  who  was  shot  through 
the  body  there,  whether  France  "  put  her  colonies  in- 
to the  hands  of  the  English." 

Though  he  has  made  no  exception,  yet  I  would  be 
libera]  to  him  ;  perhaps  he  means  to  confine  himself 
to  her  colonies  in  the  West  Indies.  But  surely  it  will 
fare  as  ill  with  him  there  as  in  North  America,  wliilst 
we  remember  that  in  our  first  attempt  at  Martinico 

*  Page  9.  t  Page  6. 


284  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

we  were  actually  defeated  ;  that  it  was  three  months 
before  we  reduced  Guadaloupe  ;  and  that  the  con- 
quest of  the  Havannah  was  achieved  by  the  highest 
conduct,  aided  by  circumstances  of  the  greatest  good 
fortune.  He  knows  the  expense  both  of  men  and 
treasure  at  which  we  bought  that  place.  However, 
if  it  had  so  pleased  the  peacemakers,  it  was  no  dear 
purchase  ;  for  it  was  decisive  of  the  fortune  of  the 
war  and  the  terms  of  the  treaty :  the  Duke  of  Niver- 
nois  thought  so  ;  France,  England,  Europe,  consid- 
ered it  in  that  light ;  all  the  world,  except  the  then 
friends  of  the  then  ministry,  who  wept  for  our  victo- 
ries, and  were  in  haste  to  get  rid  of  the  burden  of 
our  conquests.  This  author  knows  that  France  did 
not  put  those  colonies  into  the  hands  of  England  ; 
but  he  well  knows  who  did  put  the  most  valuable  of 
them  into  the  hands  of  France. 

In  the  next  place,  our  author  *  is  pleased  to  con- 
sider the  conquest  of  those  colonies  in  no  other  light 
than  as  a  convenience  for  the  remittances  to  France, 
which  he  asserts  that  the  war  had  before  suspended, 
but  for  which  a  way  was  opened  (by  our  conquest) 
as  secure  as  in  time  of  peace.  I  charitably  hope  he 
knows  nothing  of  the  subject.  I  referred  liini  lately 
to  our  commanders,  for  the  resistance  of  the  French 
colonies  ;  I  now  wish  he  would  apply  to  our  custom- 
house entries,  and  our  merchants,  for  the  advantages 
which  wo  derived  from  them. 

Ill  17<»1,  there  was  no  entry  of  goods  from  any  of 
tlie  conquered  places  but  Guadaloupe ;  in  that  year 
it  stood  thus  :  — 

Imports  froin  Guadaloupe,  value,  £482,179 

•  Tdgc  9. 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF  THE   NATION.         285 

111  17G2,  when  wo  luicl  not  yet  delivered  up 
our  conquests,  the  account  was, 

Guadaloupe X  513,244 

Martinico 288,425 

Total  imports  in  1762,        value,  £  801,669 

In  1763,  after  we  had  delivered  up  the 
sovereignty  of  these  islands,  but  kept 
open  a  communication  with  them,  the 
imports  were, 

Guadaloupe X  412,303 

Martinico 344,161 

Havannah 249,386 


Total  imports  in  1763,     value,  £  1,005,850 

Besides,  I  find,  in  the  account  of  bullion  imported 
and  brought  to  the  Bank,  that,  during  that  period  in 
which  the  intercourse  with  the  Havannah  was  open, 
we  received  at  that  one  shop,  in  treasure,  from  that 
one  place,  559,810Z. ;  in  the  year  1763,  389,450Z. ; 
so  that  the  import  from  these  places  m  that  year 
amounted  to  1,395,300Z, 

On  this  state  the  reader  will  observe,  that  I  take 
the  imports  from,  and  not  the  exports  to,  these  con- 
quests, as  the  measure  of  the  advantages  which  we 
derived  from  them.  I  do  so  for  reasons  which  will 
be  somewhat  worthy  the  attention  of  such  readers  as 
are  fond  of  this  species  of  inquiry.  I  say  therefore  I 
choose  the  import  article,  as  the  best,  and  indeed  the 
only  standard  we  can  have,  of  the  value  of  the  West 
India  trade.  Our  export  entry  docs  not  comprehend 
the  greatest  trade  we  carry  on  with  any  of  the  West 
India  islands,  the  sale  of  negroes :  nor  does  it  give 


286  OBSEEVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

any  idea  of  two  other  advantages  we  draw  from  tliem ; 
the  remittances  for  money  spent  here,  and  tlie  pay- 
ment of  part  of  the  balance  of  the  North  American 
trade.  It  is  therefore  quite  ridiculous,  to  strike  a 
balance  merely  on  the  face  of  an  excess  of  imports 
and  exports,  in  that  commerce ;  though,  in  most  for- 
eign branches,  it  is,  on  the  whole,  the  best  method. 
If  we  should  take  that  standard,  it  would  appear, 
that  the  balance  with  our  own  islands  is,  annually, 
several  hundred  thousand  pounds  against  this  coun- 
try.* Such  is  its  aspect  on  the  custom-house  entries ; 
but  we  know  the  direct  contrary  to  be  the  fact.  We 
know  that  the  West-Indians  are  always  indebted  to 
our  merchants,  and  that  the  value  of  every  shilling 
of  West  India  produce  is  English  property.  So  that 
our  import  from  them,  and  not  our  export,  ought 
always  to  be  considered  as  their  true  value  ;  and  this 
corrective  ought  to  be  applied  to  all  general  balances 
of  our  trade,  which  are  formed  on  the  ordinary  prin- 
ciples. 

If  possible,  this  was  more  emphatically  true  of  the 
French  West  India  islands,  whilst  they  continued  in 
our  hands.  That  none  or  only  a  very  contemptible 
part,  of  the  value  of  this  produce  could  be  remitted 
to  France,  the  author  will  see,  perhaps  with  unwill- 
ingness, l)ut  with  the  clearest  conviction,  if  he  con- 
siders, tliat  in  the  year  17G?>,  after  ive  had  ceased  to 
export  to  the  isles  of  Guadaloupe  and  Martinico, 
and  to  the  Ilavannah,  and  after  the  colonies  were 

•  Total  imports  from  the  West  Indies  in  1764  .     .     .  £2,909,411 
Exports  to  ditto  in  ditto 896,511 

Excess  of  imports £2,012,900 

In  this,  which  is  tlic  common  way  of  statinp  the  balance,  it  will 
appear  npwards  of  two  millions  against  us,  which  is  ridiculous. 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    287 

free  to  scud  all  tlieii'  produce  to  Old  Frauce  and 
Spain,  if  they  had  auy  reniittauce  to  make ;  he 
will  see,  that  we  imported  from  those  places,  in 
that  year,  to  the  amount  of  1,895,300?.  So  far 
was  the  whole  annual  produce  of  these  islands  from 
being  adequate  to  the  payments  of  their  annual  call 
upon  us,  that  this  mighty  additional  importation 
was  necessary,  though  not  quite  sufficient,  to  dis- 
charge the  debts  contracted  in  the  few  years  we  held 
them.  The  property,  therefore,  of  their  whole  prod- 
uce was  ours  ;  not  only  during  the  war,  but  even  for 
more  than  a  year  after  the  peace.  The  author,  I 
hope,  will  not  again  venture  upon  so  rash  and  dis- 
couraging a  proposition  concerning  the  nature  and 
effect  of  those  conquests,  as  to  call  them  a  conven- 
ience to  the  remittances  of  France ;  he  sees,  by  this 
account,  that  what  he  asserts  is  not  only  without 
foundation,  but  even  impossible  to  be  true. 

As  to  our  trade  at  that  time,  he  labors  with  all  his 
might  to  represent  it  as  absolutely  ruined,  or  on  the 
very  edge  of  ruin.  Indeed,  as  usual  with  him,  he  is 
often  as  equivocal  in  his  expression  as  he  is  clear  in 
his  design.  Sometimes  he  more  than  insinuates  a 
decay  of  our  commerce  in  that  war  ;  sometimes  he 
admits  an  increase  of  exports ;  but  it  is  in  order  to 
depreciate  the  advantages  we  might  appear  to  derive 
from  that  increase,  whenever  it  should  come  to  be 
proved  against  him.  He  tells  you,*  "  that  it  was 
chiefly  occasioned  by  the  demands  of  our  own  fleets 
and  armies,  and,  instead  or  bringing  wealth  to  the 
nation,  was  to  be  paid  for  by  oppressive  taxes  upon 
the  people  of  England."  Never  was  anything  more 
destitute  of  foundation.     It  might  be  proved,  with 

*  Page  6. 


288  OBSERYATIOXS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

the  greatest  ease,  from  the  nature  and  quality  of  the 
goods  exported,  as  well  as  from  the  situation  of  the 
places  to  which  our  merchandise  was  sent,  and  which 
the  war  could  no  wise  afifect,  that  the  supply  of  our 
fleets  and  armies  could  not  have  been  the  cause  of 
this  wonderful  increase  of  trade  :  its  cause  was  evi- 
dent to  the  whole  world ;  the  ruin  of  the  trade  of 
France,  and  our  possession  of  her  colonies.  What 
wonderful  effects  this  cause  produced  the  reader  will 
see  below  ;  *  and  he  will  form  on  that  account  some 
judgment  of  the  author's  candor  or  information. 

1"54.                                                    £  s.  d. 

*  Total  export  of  British  goods  .     .     .  value,  8,317,506  15  3 

Ditto  of  foreign  goods  in  time      ....    2,910,836  14  9 

Ditto  of  ditto  out  of  time 559,485  2  10 

Total  exports  of  all  kinds 11,787,828  12   10 

Total  imports 8,093,472  15     0 

Balance  in  favor  of  England    ....      £3,694,355  17  10 

1761.                                                      £           s.  d. 

Total  export  of  British  goods 10,649,581   12  6 

Ditto  of  foreign  goods  in  time      ....    3,553,692     7  1 

Ditto  of  ditto  out  of  time 355,015     0  2 

Total  exports  of  all  kinds 14,558,288  19     9 

Total  imports 9,294,915     1     6 

Balance  in  favor  of  England    ....      £5,263,37318     3 

Here  is  the  state  of  our  trade  m  1761,  compared  witli  a  very  good 
year  of  profound  peace :  tioth  are  taken  from  tlie  authentic  entries  at 
the  cnstom-lionsc.  How  the  author  can  contrive  to  make  this  increase 
of  the  export  of  En^lisli  ])roducc  agree  witli  his  account  of  the  dread- 
ful want  of  liaii'ls  in  ICnghinil.  [)agc  9,  unless  lie  sujiposes  maAufnctures 
to  he  made  without  hands,  I  really  do  not  sec.  It  is  painful  to  be  so 
frequently  obliged  to  set  this  author  right  in  matters  of  fact.  This 
sUitc.  will  fully  ri'futo  nil  tlinl  lie  has  said  or  insinuated  upon  the  dif- 
ficulties and  decay  of  our  trade,  pages  G,  7,  and  9. 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF   THE   NATION.         289 

Admit  however  that  a  great  part  of  our  export, 
though  nothing  is  more  remote  from  fact,  was  owing 
to  the  supply  of  our  fleets  and  armies  ;  was  it  not 
something?  —  was  it  not  peculiarly  fortunate  for  a 
nation,  that  she  was  able  from  her  own  bosom  to  con- 
tribute largely  to  the  supply  of  her  armies  militating 
in  so  many  distant  countries  ?  The  author  allows 
that  France  did  not  enjoy  the  same  advantages.  But 
it  is  remarkable,  throughout  his  whole  book,  that 
those  circumstances  which  have  ever  been  considered 
as  great  benefits,  and  decisive  proofs  of  na,tional  supe- 
riority, are,  when  in  our  hands,  taken  either  in  dim- 
inution of  some  other  apparent  advantage,  or  even 
sometimes  as  positive  misfortunes.  The  optics  of 
that  politician  must  be  of  a  strange  conformation, 
who  beholds  everything  in  this  distorted  shape. 

So  far  as  to  our  trade.  With  regard  to  our  navi- 
gation, he  is  still  more  uneasy  at  our  situation,  and 
still  more  fallacious  in  his  state  of  it.  In  his  text,  he 
affirms  it  "to  have  been  entirely  engrossed  by  the 
neutral  nations."  *  This  he  asserts  roundly  and 
boldly,  and  without  the  least  concern  ;  although  it 
cost  no  more  than  a  single  glance  of  the  eye  upon  his 
own  margin  to  see  the  full  refutation  of  this  asser- 
tion. His  own  account  proves  against  him,  that,  in 
the  year  1761,  the  British  shipping  amounted  to 
627,557  tons,  —  the  foreign  to  no  more  than  180,102. 
The  medium  of  his  six  years  British,  2,449,555  tons, 
—  foreign  only  906,690.  This  state  (his  own)  de- 
monstrates that  the  neutral  nations  did  not  entirely 
engross  our  navigation. 

I  am  willing  from  a  strain  of  candor  to  admit  that 
this  author  speaks  at  random  ;  that  he  is  only  sloven- 

*  Page  7.     See  also  page  13. 

VOL.  I  19 


290  OBSERVATIONS    ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

ly  and  inaccurate,  and  not  fallacious.  In  matters  of 
account,  however,  this  want  of  care  is  not  excusable  ; 
and  the  difference  between  neutral  nations  entirely 
engrossing  our  navigation,  and  being  only  subsidiary 
to  a  vastly  augmented  trade,  makes  a  most  material 
difference  to  his  argument.  From  that  principle  of 
fairness,  though  the  author  speaks  otherwise,  I  am 
willing  to  suppose  he  means  no  more  than  that  our 
navigation  had  so  declined  as  to  alarm  us  witli  the 
probable  loss  of  this  valuable  object.  I  shall  however 
show,  that  his  whole  proposition,  whatever  modifica- 
tions he  may  please  to  give  it,  is  without  foundation  ; 
that  our  navigation  had  not  decreased ;  that,  on  the 
contrary,  it  had  greatly  increased  in  the  war ;  that  it 
had  increased  by  the  war ;  and  that  it  was  probable 
the  same  cause  would  continue  to  augment  it  to  a 
still  greater  height ;  to  what  an  height  it  is  hard  to 
say,  had  our  success  continued. 

But  first  I  must  observe,  I  am  much  less  solicitous 
whetlier  his  fact  be  true  or  no,  than  wliethor  his  ])rin- 
ciple  is  well  established.  Cases  are  dead  things,  prin- 
ciples are  living  and  productive.  I  affirm  then,  that, 
if  in  time  of  war  our  trade  had  the  good  fortune  to 
increase,  and  at  the  same  time  a  large,  nay  the 
largest,  proportion  of  carriage  had  been  engrossed 
by  neutral  nations,  it  ought  not  in  itself  to  have  been 
considered  as  a  circumstance  of  distress.  War  is  a 
time  of  inconvenience  to  trade  ;  in  general  it  must 
be  straitened,  and  must  find  its  way  as  it  can.  It  is 
often  ha))py  for  nations  that  they  are  able  to  call  in 
neutral  navigation.  Thoy  all  aim  at  it.  France  en- 
deavored at  it,  l)nt  cojild  not  compass  it.  Will  this 
autlior  say,  that,  in  a  war  with  Sj)ain,  such  an  assist- 
ance would  not  bo  of  absolute  necessity  ?  that  it 
"would  not  be  the  most  gross  of  all  follies  to  refuse  it? 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF  THE  NATION.         291 

In  the  next  place,  liis  method  of  stating  a  medium 
of  six  years  of  war,  and  six  years  of  peace,  to  decide 
this  question,  is  altogether  unfair.  To  say,  in  dero- 
gation of  the  advantages  of  a  war,  that  navigation  is 
not  equal  to  what  it  was  in  time  of  peace,  is  what 
hitherto  has  never  been  heard  of.  No  war  ever  bore 
that  test  but  the  war  which  he  so  bitterly  laments. 
One  may  lay  it  down  as  a  maxim,  that  an  average  es- 
timate of  an  object  in  a  steady  course  of  rising  or  of 
falling,  must  in  its  nature  be  an  unfair  one ;  more 
particularly  if  the  cause  of  the  rise  or  fall  be  visible, 
and  its  continuance  in  any  degree  probable.  Aver- 
age estimates  are  never  just  but  when  the  object  fluc- 
tuates, and  no  reason  can  be  assigned  why  it  should 
not  continue  still  to  fluctuate.  The  author  chooses 
to  allow  nothing  at  all  for  this :  he  has  taken  an  av- 
erage of  six  years  of  the  war.  He  knew,  for  every- 
body knows,  that  the  first  three  years  were  on  the 
whole  rather  unsuccessful ;  and  that,  in  consequence 
of  this  ill  success,  trade  sunk,  and  navigation  declined 
with  it ;  but  that  grand  delusion  of  the  three  last 
years  turned  the  scale  in  our  favor.  At  the  begin- 
ning of  that  war  (as  in  the  commencement  of  every 
war),  traders  were  struck  with  a  sort  of  panic. 
Many  went  out  of  the  freighting  business.  But  by 
degrees,  as  the  war  continued,  the  terror  wore  off; 
the  danger  came  to  be  better  appreciated,  and  bet- 
ter provided  against ;  our  trade  was  carried  on  in 
large  fleets,  under  regular  convoys,  and  with  great 
safety.  The  freighting  business  revived.  The  ships 
were  fewer,  but  much  larger ;  and  though  the  num- 
ber decreased,  the  tonnage  was  vastly  augmented : 
insomuch  that  in  1761  the  British  shipping  liad  risen 
by  the  author's  own  account  to  521,557  tons.  — In  the 


292  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

last  year  he  has  given  us  of  the  peace,  it  amounted  to 
no  more  than  494,772 ;  that  is,  in  the  last  year  of 
the  war  it  was  32,785  tons  more  than  in  the  corre- 
spondent year  of  his  peace  average.  No  year  of  the 
peace  exceeded  it  except  one,  and  that  but  little. 

The  fair  account  of  the  matter  is  this.  Our  trade 
had,  as  we  have  just  seen,  increased  to  so  astonishing 
a  degree  in  1761,  as  to  employ  British  and  foreign 
ships  to  the  amount  of  707,0.39  tons,  which  is  149,500 
more  than  we  employed  in  the  last  year  of  the  peace. 
—  Thus  our  trade  increased  more  than  a  fifth  ;  our 
British  navigation  had  increased  likewise  with  this 
astonishing  increase  of  trade,  but  was  not  able  to 
keep  pace  with  it ;  and  we  added  about  120,000  tons 
of  foreign  shipping  to  the  60,000,  which  had  been 
employed  in  the  last  year  of  the  peace.  Whatever 
happened  to  our  shipping  in  the  former  years  of  the 
war,  this  would  be  no  true  state  of  the  case  at  the 
time  of  the  treaty.  If  we  had  lost  something  in  the 
beginning,  we  had  then  recovered,  and  more  than  re- 
covered, all  our  losses.  Such  is  the  groxind  of  the 
doleful  complaints  of  the  author,  that  the  carrying 
trade  was  tohoUy  engrossed  hy  the  neutral  nations. 

I  have  done  fairly,  and  even  very  moderately,  in 
taking  this  year,  and  not  his  average,  as  the  standard 
of  what  might  be  expected  in  future,  had  the  Avar 
continued.  The  author  will  be  compelled  to  allow 
it,  unless  he  undertakes  to  show  ;  first,  that  the  pos- 
sfission  of  Canada,  Mnrtinico,  Gundaloupo,  Grenada, 
the  ITavannah,  the  Philipjjines,  the  whole  African 
trade,  the  wliole  East  India  trade,  and  the  whole 
Ncwfoundhind  flslieiy,  had  no  certain  inevitable  ten- 
dency to  increase  the  British  slii]ij)ing;  unless,  in  the 
second  place,  he  can  prove  tliat  those  trades  were,  or 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    293 

might  be,  by  law  or  indulgence,  carried  on  in  foreign 
vessels  ;  and  imlcss,  thirdly,  he  can  demonstrate  that 
the  premium  of  insurance  on  British  ships  was  rising 
as  the  war  continued.  He  can  prove  not  one  of  these 
points.  I  will  show  him  a  fact  more  that  is  mortal  to 
his  assertions.  It  is  the  state  of  our  shipping  hi  1762. 
The  author  had  his  reasons  for  stopping  short  at  the 
preceding  year.  It  would  have  appeared,  had  he  pro- 
ceeded farther,  that  our  tonnage  was  in  a  course  of 
uniform  augmentation,  owing  to  the  freight  derived 
from  our  foreign  conquests,  and  to  the  perfect  securi- 
ty of  our  navigation  from  our  clear  and  decided  supe- 
riority at  sea.  This,  I  say,  would  have  appeared 
from  the  state  of  the  two  years :  — 

1761.  British      .     .     .     527,557  tons. 

1762.  Ditto         .     .     .     559,537  tons. 

1761.  Foreign     .     .     .     180,102  tons. 

1762.  Ditto         .     .     .     129,502  tons. 

The  two  last  years  of  the  peace  were  in  no  degree 
equal  to  these.  Much  of  the  navigation  of  1763  was 
also  owing  to  the  war  ;  this  is  manifest  from  the  large 
part  of  it  employed  in  the  carriage  from  the  ceded 
islands,  w^ith  which  the  communication  still  continued 
open.  No  such  circumstances  of  glory  and  advan- 
tage ever  attended  upon  a  war.  Too  happy  will  be 
our  lot,  if  we  should  again  be  forced  into  a  war,  to 
behold  anything  that  shall  resemble  them ;  and  if  we 
were  not  then  the  better  for  them,  it  is  net  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  God's  providence  to  mend  our 
condition. 

In  vain  does  the  author  declaim  on  the  high  pre- 
miums given  for  the  loans  during  the  war.  His 
long  note  swelled  with  calculations  on  that  subject 


294  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

(even  supposing  tlie  most  inaccurate  of  all  calcula- 
tions to  be  just)  would  be  entirely  thrown  away,  did 
it  not  serve  to  raise  a  wonderful  opinion  of  his  finan- 
cial skill  in  those  who  are  not  less  surprised  than  ed- 
ified, when,  with  a  solemn  face  and  mysterious  air, 
they  are  told  that  two  and  two  make  four.  For  what 
else  do  we  learn  from  this  note  ?  That  the  more  ex- 
pense is  incurred  by  a  nation,  the  more  money  will 
be  required  to  defray  it ;  that  in  proportion  to  the 
continuance  of  that  expense,  will  be  the  continuance 
of  borrowing  ;  that  the  increase  of  borrowing  and  the 
increase  of  debt  will  go  hand  in  hand  ;  and  lastly,  that 
the  more  money  you  want,  the  harder  it  will  be  to 
get  it ;  and  that  the  scarcity  of  the  commodity  will 
enhance  the  price.  Who  ever  doubted  the  truth,  or 
the  insignificance,  of  these  propositions  ?  what  do 
they  prove  ?  that  war  is  expensive,  and  peace  desira- 
ble. They  contain  nothing  more  than  a  common- 
place against  war ;  the  easiest  of  all  topics.  To  bring 
them  home  to  his  purpose,  he  ought  to  have  shown 
that  our  enemies  had  money  upon  better  terms  ; 
which  he  has  not  shown,  neither  can  he.  I  shall 
speak  more  fully  to  this  point  in  another  place.  He 
ought  to  have  shown  that  the  money  thoy  raised, 
upon  whatever  terms,  had  procured  them  a  more 
lucrative  return.  lie  knows  that  our  expenditure 
purchased  commerce  and  conquest:  theirs  acquired 
nothing  but  defeat  and  bankruptcy. 
I  Thus  the  author  lias  laid  down  his  ideas  on  the 
,  subject  of  war.  Next  follow  those  he  entertains  on 
'that  of  peace.  The  treaty  of  Paris  upon  the  whole 
has  his  approbation.  Indeed,  if  his  account  of  the 
war  be  jtist,  he  might  have  spared  himself  all  fnrthcr 
trouble.     The  rest  is  drawn  on  as  an  inevitable  con- 


ON    THE    PRESENT    STATE    OF    THE   NATION.         295 

elusion.*'  If  tlie  House  of  Bourbon  had  the  advan- 
tage, she  must  give  tlie  kiw ;  and  the  peace,  though 
it  were  much  worse  than  it  is,  had  still  been  a  good 
one.  But  as  the  world  is  yet  deluded  on  the  state  of 
that  war,  other  arguments  are  necessary ;  and  the 
author  has  in  my  opinion  very  ill  supplied  them. 
He  tells  of  many  things  we  have  got,  and  of  which 
he  has  made  out  a  kind  of  bill.  This  matter  may  be 
brought  within  a  very  narrow  compass,  if  we  come  to 
consider  the  requisites  of  a  good  peace  under  some 
plain  distinct  heads.  I  apprehend  they  may  be  re- 
duced to  these :  1.  Stability ;  2.  Indemnification ; 
3.  Alliance. 

As  to  the  first,  the  author  more  than  obscurely 
hints  in  several  places,  that  he  thinks  the  peace  not 
likely  to  last.  However,  he  does  furnish  a  security ; 
a  security,  in  any  light,  I  fear,  but  insufficient ;  on 
his  hypothesis,  surely  a  very  odd  one.  "  By  stipulat- 
ing for  the  entire  possession  of  the  Continent  (says 
he)  the  restored  French  islands  are  become  in  some 
measure  dependent  on  the  British  empire ;  and  the 
good  faith  of  France  in  observing  the  treaty  guaran- 
teed by  the  value  at  which  she  estimates  their  pos- 
session."! This  author  soon  grows  weary  of  his 
principles.  They  seldom  last  him  for  two  pages 
together.  When  the  advantages  of  the  war  were  to 
be  depreciated,  then  the  loss  of  the  ultramarine  col- 
onies lightened  the  expenses  of  France,  facilitated 
her  remittances,  and  therefore  her  colonists  put  them 
into  our  hands.  According  to  this  author's  system, 
the  actual  possession  of  those  colonies  ought  to  give 
us  little  or  no  advantage  in  the  negotiation  for  peace  ; 
and  yet  the  chance  of  possessing  them  on  a  future  oc- 

*  Pages  12,  13.  t  Page  17. 


296  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

casion  gives  a  perfect  security  for  the  preservation  ot 
that  peace.*  The  conquest  of  the  Havannah,  if  it  did 
not  serve  Spain,  rather  distressed  England,  says  our 
author. t  But  the  molestation  which  her  galleons 
may  suffer  from  our  station  in  Pensacola  gives  us  ad- 
vantages, for  which  we  were  not  allowed  to  credit  the 
nation  for  the  Havannah  itself ;  a  place  surely  full  as 
well  situated  for  every  external  purpose  as  Pensa- 
cola, and  of  more  internal  benefit  than  ten  thousand 
Pensacolas. 

The  author  sets  very  little  by  conquests ;  $  I  sup- 
pose it  is  because  he  makes  them  so  very  lightly. 
On  this  subject  he  speaks  with  the  greatest  certainty 
imaginable.  We  have,  according  to  him,  nothing  to 
do,  but  to  go  and  take  possession,  whenever  we  think 
proper,  of  the  French  and  Spanish  settlements.  It 
were  better  that  he  had  examined  a  little  what  advan- 
tage the  peace  gave  us  towards  the  invasion  of  tliese 
colonies,  which  we  did  not  possess  before  the  peace. 
It  would  not  have  been  amiss  if  he  had  consulted  the 
public  experience,  and  our  commanders,  concerning 
the  absolute  certainty  of  those  conquests  on  which  he 
is  pleased  to  found  our  security.  And  if,  after  all, 
he  should  have  discovered  them  to  be  so  very  sure, 
and  so  very  easy,  he  miglit  at  least,  to  preserve  con- 
sistency, have  looked  a  few  pages  back,  and  (no  un- 
pleasing  tiling  to  him)  listened  to  himself,  where  he 
says,  "  that  the  most  successful  enterprise  could  not 
compensate  to  the  nation  for  the  waste  of  its  pco[)lc, 
l>y  carrying  on  war  in  unlieallliy  climates."  §     A  po- 

*  ruRc  6. 

t  "  Our  iiicrcliaiits  siifl'i'n'J  hy  llic  detention  of  tlio  p:alleoiis,  as 
their  corri'SiKHidents  in  S])iiin  were  disuliled  from  ])iiyinjj  tliem  for 
their  goods  sent  to  America." — StiUe  of  the  Nation,  p.  7. 

J  Pages  12,  13.  §  Page  6. 


ON    THE    PRESENT    STATE    OF   THE   NATION.  297 

sition  which  he  repeats  again,  p.  9.  So  that,  accord- 
ing to  himself,  his  security  is  not  worth  the  suit ; 
according  to  fact,  he  has  only  a  chance,  God  knows 
what  a  chance,  of  getting  at  it ;  and  therefore,  ac- 
cording to  reason,  the  giving  up  the  most  valuable 
of  all  possessions,  in  hopes  to  conquer  them  back,  un- 
der any  advantage  of  situation,  is  the  most  ridiculous 
security  that  ever  was  imagined  for  the  peace  of  a  na- 
tion. It  is  true  his  friends  did  not  give  up  Canada  ; 
they  could  not  give  up  everything ;  let  us  make  the 
most  of  it.  We  have  Canada,  we  know  its  value. 
We  have  not  the  French  any  longer  to  fight  in  North 
America ;  and  from  this  circumstance  we  derive  con 
siderable  advantages.  But  here  let  me  rest  a  little. 
The  author  touches  upon  a  string  which  sounds  un- 
der his  fingers  but  a  tremulous  and  melancholy  notft. 
North  America  was  once  indeed  a  great  strength  to  this 
nation,  in  opportunity  of  ports,  in  ships,  in  provisions, 
in  men.  We  found  her  a  sound,  an  active,  a  vigorous 
member  of  the  empire.  I  hope,  by  wise  management, 
she  will  again  become  so.  But  one  of  our  capital! 
present  misfortunes  is  her  discontent  and  disobedi-| 
ence.  To  wiiich  of  the  author's  favorites  this  discon- 
tent is  owing,  we  all  know  but  too  sufficiently.  It 
would  be  a  dismal  event,  if  this  foundation  of  his  se- 
curity, and  indeed  of  all  our  public  strength,  should, 
in  reality,  become  our  weakness  ;  and  if  all  the -pow- 
ers of  this  empire,  which  ought  to  fall  with  a  com- 
pacted weight  upon  the  head  of  our  enemies,  should 
be  dissipated  and  distracted  by  a  jealous  vigilance,  or 
by  hostile  attempts  upon  one  another.  Ten  Canadas 
cannot  restore  that  security  for  the  peace,  and  for 
everything  valuable  to  this  country,  which  we  have 
lost  along  with  the  affection  and  the  obedience  of  our 


298  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

colonies.     He  is  the  wise  minister,  he  is  the  true 
friend  to  Britain,  who  shall  be  able  to  restore  it. 

To  return  to  the  security  for  the  peace.  The  au- 
thor tells  us,  that  the  original  great  purposes  of  the 
war  were  more  than  accomplished  by  the  treaty. 
Surely  he  has  experience  and  reading  enough  to 
know,  that,  in  the  course  of  a  war,  events  may  hap- 
pen, that  render  its  original  very  far  from  being  its 
principal  purpose.  This  original  may  dwindle  by 
circumstances,  so  as  to  become  not  a  purpose  of  the 
second  or  even  the  third  magnitude.  I  trust  this  is 
so  obvious  that  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  put  cases 
for  its  illustration.  In  that  war,  as  soon  as  Spain  en- 
tered into  the  quarrel,  the  security  of  North  America 
was  no  longer  the  sole  nor  the  foremost  object.  The 
Maniily  Compact  had  been  I  know  not  how  long  before 
in  agitation.  But  then  it  was  that  we  saw  produced 
into  daylight  and  action  the  most  odious  and  most 
formidable  of  all  the  conspiracies  against  the  liberties 
of  Europe  that  ever  has  been  framed.  The  war  with 
Spain  was  the  first  fruits  of  that  league ;  and  a  secu- 
rity against  that  league  onght  to  have  been  the  funda- 
mental point  of  a  pacification  with  the  powers  who 
compose  it.  We  had  materials  in  our  hands  to  have 
constructed  that  security  in  such  a  manner  as  never 
to  be  shaken.  But  liow  did  the  virtuous  and  able 
men  of  our  author  labor  for  this  great  end  ?  They 
took  no  one  step  towards  it.  On  the  contrary  they 
countenanced,  and,  indeed,  as  far  as  it  depended  on 
(h(!m,  recognized  it  in  all  its  parts;  foi- our  pl('nij)o- 
tentiary  treated  with  those  wlio  acted  lor  the  two 
crowns,  as  if  tliey  had  Iteen  dillercnt  ministers  of  the 
same  monarch.  The  Spanish  minister  received  his 
instructions,  not  from  Madrid,  but  from  Versailles. 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OP  THE  NATION.    299 

This  was  not  hid  from  our  ministers  at  home  ;  and 
the  discovery  ought  to  have  alarmed  them,  if  the  good 
of  tlieir  country  had  been  the  object  of  their  anxiety. 
They  could  not  but  have  seen  that  the  whole  Spanish 
monarchy  was  melted  down  into  the  cabuiet  of  Ver- 
sailles. But  they  thought  this  circumstance  an  ad- 
vantage ;  as  it  enabled  them  to  go  through  with  their 
work  the  more  expeditiously.  Expedition  was  every- 
thing to  them  ;  because  Prance  might  happen  during 
a  protracted  negotiation  to  discover  the  great  imposi- 
tion of  our  victories. 

In  the  same  spirit  they  negotiated  the  terms  of  the 
peace.  If  it  were  thought  advisable  not  to  take  any 
positive  security  from  Spain,  the  most  obvious  princi- 
ples of  policy  dictated  that  the  burden  of  the  cessions 
ought  to  fall  upon  Prance  ;  and  that  everything  which 
was  of  grace  and  favor  should  be  given  to  Spain. 
Spain  could  not,  on  her  part,  have  executed  a  capital 
article  in  the  family  compact,  which  obliged  her  to 
compensate  the  losses  of  Prance.  At  least  she  could 
not  do  it  in  America ;  for  she  was  expressly  pre- 
cluded by  the  treaty  of  Utrecht  from  ceding  any  ter- 
ritory or  giving  any  advantage  in  trade  to  that  power. 
What  did  our  ministers  ?  They  took  from  Spain  the 
territory  of  Florida,  an  object  of  no  value  except 
to  show  our  dispositions  to  be  quite  equal  at  least 
towards  both  powers  ;  and  they  enabled  France  to 
compensate  Spain  by  the  gift  of  Louisiana :  loading 
us  with  all  the  harshness,  leaving  tlie  act  of  kindness 
with  France,  and  opening  thereby  a  door  to  the  ful- 
filling of  this  the  most  consolidating  article  of  the 
family  compact.  Accordingly  that  dangerous  league, 
thus  abetted  and  authorized  by  the  English  ministry 
without  an  attempt  to  invalidate  it  in  any  way,  or  in 


;-iOO  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

any  of  its  parts,  exists  to  this  hour ;  and  has  grown 
stronger  and  stronger  every  hour  of  its  existence. 

As  to  the  second  component  of  a  good  peace,  com- 
pe)isation,  1  have  but  little  trouble  ;  the  author  has 
said  nothing  upon  that  head.  He  has  nothing  to  say. 
After  a  war  of  such  expense,  this  ought  to  have  been 
a  capital  consideration.  But  on  what  he  has  been  so 
prudently  silent,  I  think  it  is  right  to  speak  plainly. 
All  our  new  acquisitions  together,  at  this  time,  scarce 
afford  matter  of  revenue,  either  at  home  or  abroad, 
sufficient  to  defray  the  expense  of  their  establishments  ; 
not  one  shilling  towards  the  reduction  of  our  debt. 
Guadaloupe  or  Martinico  alone  would  have  given  us 
material  aid  ;  much  in  the  way  of  duties,  much  in  the 
way  of  trade  and  navigation.  A  good  ministry  would 
have  considered  how  a  renewal  of  the  Assiento  might 
have  been  obtained.  We  had  as  much  right  to  ask  it 
at  the  treaty  of  Paris  as  at  the  treaty  of  Utrecht.  We 
had  incomparably  more  in  our  hands  to  purchase  it. 
Floods  of  treasure  would  have  poured  into  this  khig- 
doni  from  such  a  source  ;  and,  iinder  proper  manage- 
ment, no  small  part  of  it  Avould  have  taken  a  public 
direction,  and  have  fructified  an  exhausted  exchequer. 

If  this  gentleman's  hero  of  finance,  instead  of  fly- 
ing from  a  treaty,  which,  thougli  he  now  defends,  he 
could  not  approve,  and  would  not  oppose  ;  if  he,  in- 
stead of  sliiftiiig  into  an  office,  which  removed  him 
from  tlie  manufacture  of  the  treaty,  had,  by  his  credit 
with  the  then  great  director,  acquired  for  us  these, 
or  any  of  these,  ol)jects,  the  possession  of  Guadaloupe 
or  Martinico,  or  the  renewal  of  tlie  Assiento,  he  might 
have  held  his  head  high  in  his  country  ;  because  ho 
would  have  performed  real  service ;  ten  thousand 
times  more  real  service,  than  all  the  economy  of 


( f 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF  THE  NATION.         301 

which  this  writer  is  perpetually  talking,  or  all  the 
little  tricks  of  finance  which  the  expertest  juggler  of 
the  treasury  can  practise,  could  amount  to  in  a  thou- 
sand years.  But  the  occasion  is  lost ;  the  time  is 
gone,  perhaps  forever. 

As  to  the  third  requisite,  alliance,  there  too  the 
author  is  silent.  What  strength  of  that  kind  did 
they  acquire?  They  got  no  one  new  ally;  they 
stript  the  enemy  of  not  a  single  old  one.  They  dis- 
gusted (how  justly,  or  unjustly,  matters  not)  every 
ally  we  had  ;  and  from  that  time  to  this  we  stand 
friendless  in  Europe.  But  of  this  naked  condition 
of  their  country  I  know  some  people  are  not  ashamed. 
They  have  their  system  of  politics  ;  our  ancestors 
grew  great  by  another.  In  this  manner  these  virtu- 
ous men  concluded  the  peace  ;  and  their  practice  is 
only  consonant  to  their  theory. 

Many  things  more  might  be  observed  on  this  curi- 
ous head  of  our  author's  speculations.  But,  taking 
leave  of  what  the  writer  says  in  his  serious  part,  if  he 
be  serious  in  any  part,  I  shall  only  just  point  out  a 
piece  of  his  pleasantry.  No  man,  I  believe,  ever  de- 
nied that  the  time  for  making  peace  is  that  in  which 
the  best  terms  maybe  obtained.  But  what  that  time 
is,  together  with  the  use  that  has  been  made  of  it, 
we  are  to  judge  by  seeing  whether  terms  adequate 
to  our  advantages,  and  to  our  necessities,  have  been 
actually  obtained.  Here  is  the  pinch  of  the  question, 
to  which  the  author  ought  to  have  set  his  shoulders 
in  earnest.  Instead  of  doing  this,  he  slips  out  of  the 
harness  by  a  jest ;  and  sneeringly  tells  us,  that,  to 
determine  this  point,  we  must  know  the  secrets  of  the 
French  and  Spanish  cabinets,*  and  that  Parliament 

*  Som(HhiDg  however  has  transpired  in  the  quarrels  among  those 


302  OBSEEVATIONS    ON    A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

was  pleased  to  approve  the  treaty  of  peace  without 
calling  for  the  correspondence  concerning  it.  How 
just  this  sarcasm  on  that  Parliament  may  be,  I  say 
not ;  but  how  becoming  iu  the  author,  I  leave  it  to 
his  friends  to  determine. 

Having  thus  gone  through  the  questions  of  war 
and  peace,  the  author  proceeds  to  state  our  debt,  and 
the  interest  which  it  carried,  at  the  time  of  the  treaty, 
with  the  unfairness  and  inaccuracy,  however,  which 
distinguish  all  his  assertions,  and  all  his  calculations. 
To  detect  every  fallacy,  and  rectify  every  mistake, 
would  be  endless.  It  will  be  enough  to  point  out  a 
few  of  them,  in  order  to  show  how  unsafe  it  is  to  place 
anything  like  an  implicit  trust  in  such  a  writer. 

The  interest  of  debt  contracted  during  the  war  is 
stated  by  the  author  at  2,614,892^.  The  particulars 
appear  in  pp.  14  and  15.  Among  them  is  stated  the 
unfunded  debt,  9,97o,017L,  supposed  to  carry  inter- 
est on  a  medium  at  3  per  cent,  which  amounts  to 
299,250Z.  We  arc  referred  to  the  "  Considerations  on 
the  Trade  and  Finances  of  the  Kingdom,"  p.  22,  for 
the  particulars  of  that  unfunded  debt.  Turn  to  the 
work,  and  to  the  place  referred  to  by  the  author  him- 
self, if  you  have  a  mind  to  see  a  clear  detection  of  a 
capital  fallacy  of  this  article  in  his  account.  You 
will  there  see  that  this  unfunded  debt  consists  of 
the  nine  following  articles  :  the  remaining  subsidy  to 

concerned  in  thnt  transaction.  It  seems  the  good  Gmius  of  Britain, 
JO  niiich  vaunted  hy  our  author,  did  his  duty  nobly.  Wliilst  we 
were  gaining  such  ndvautiigcs,  the  court  of  Franco  was  astonished  at 
our  concessions.  "J'ai  apiiortd  ii  Versailles,  il  est  vrni,  Ics  Riitilica- 
tions  du  Hoi  d'Angletcrrc,  A  voslre  grand  donncment,  et  a  cclni  de  Men 
d'aulrcjt.  Je  dnis  ccla  an  honte's  du  Roi  d'Anglcterrc,  il  cclics  dc  Mi- 
lord TJiite,  il  Mons.  Ic  Coinfc  dc  Viry,  Ji  Mons.  le  Due  dc  Nivcrnois, 
ct  en  fin  k  mon  scavoir  fairc." — Lettrcs,  &c.,  du  Chov.  D'Eon,  p.  51. 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    303 

the  Duke  of  Brunswick  ;  the  remaining  dedommage- 
ment  to  the  Landgrave  of  Plesse ;  the  German  de- 
mands ;  tlie  army  and  ordnance  extraordinaries  ;  the 
deficiencies  of  grants  and  funds  ;  Mr.  Touchet's 
claim  ;  the  debts  due  to  Nova  Scotia  and  Barbadoes  ; 
exchequer  bills  ;  and  navy  debt.  The  extreme  fal- 
lacy of  this  state  cannot  escape  any  reader  who  will 
be  at  the  pains  to  compare  the  interest  money,  with 
which  he  affirms  us  to  have  been  loaded,  in  his 
"  State  of  the  Nation,"  with  the  items  of  the  princi- 
pal debt  to  which  he  refers  in  his  "  Considerations." 
The  reader  must  observe,  that  of  this  long  list  of  nine 
articles,  only  two,  the  exchequer  bills,  and  part  of 
the  navy  debt,  carried  any  interest  at  all.  The  first 
amounted  to  1,800,000?. ;  and  this  undoubtedly  car- 
ried interest.  The  whole  navy  debt  indeed  amounted 
to  4,576,915?.  ;  but  of  this  only  upart  carried  inter- 
est. The  author  of  the  "  Considerations,"  &c.  labors 
to  prove  this  very  point  in  p.  18 ;  and  Mr.  G.  has 
always  defended  himself  upon  the  same  ground,  for 
the  insufficient  provision  he  made  for  the  discharge  of 
that  debt.  The  reader  may  see  their  own  authority 
for  it.* 

*  "The  navy  hills  are  not  due  till  six  months  after  they  have  been 
issued ;  six  iiiontlis  also  of  the  seamen's  wages  by  act  of  Parliament 
must  be,  and  in  consequence  of  the  rules  prescribed  by  that  act,  twelve 
months'  wages  generally,  and  often  much  more  are  retained  ;  and 
there  has  been  besides  at  all  times  a  large  arrear  of  pay,  which,  though 
kept  in  the  account,  could  never  be  claimed,  the  persons  to  whom  it 
was  due  having  left  neither  assignees  nor  representatives.  The  precise 
amount  of  such  sums  cannot  be  ascertained  ;  but  they  can  hardly  be 
reckoned  less  than  thirteen  or  fourteen  hundred  thousand  pounds. 
On  31st  Dec,  1754,  when  the  navy  debt  was  reduced  nearly  as  low  as 
it  could  be,  it  still  amounted  to  1,296, 5G7/.  18s.  ll|rf.  consisting  chiefly 
of  articles  which  could  not  then  be  discharged  ;  such  articles  wiU  b« 
larger  now,  in  proportion  to  the  increase  of  the  establishment ;  and  an 


304  OBSERVATIONS    ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

Mr.  G.  did  in  fact  proride  no  more  than  2,lo0,000Z 
lor  the  discharge  of  these  bills  in  two  years.  It  is  much 
to  be  wished  that  these  gentlemen  would  lay  their 
heads  together,  that  they  would  consider  well  this 
matter,  and  agree  upon  something.  For  when  the 
scanty  provision  made  for  the  unfunded  debt  is  to  be 
vindicated,  then  we  are  told  it  is  a  very  small  part  o\ 
that  debt  which  carries  interest.  But  when  the  public 
is  to  be  represented  in  a  miserable  condition,  and  the 
consequences  of  the  late  war  to  be  laid  before  us  in 
dreadful  colors,  then  we  are  to  be  told  that  the  un 
funded  debt  is  within  a  trifle  of  ten  millions,  and  so 
large  a  portion  of  it  carries  interest  that  we  must  not 
compute  less  than  3  per  cent  upon  the  whole. 

In  the  year  1764,  Parliament  voted  650,000?.  to- 
wards the  discharge  of  the  navy  debt.  This  sum- 
could  not  be  applied  solely  to  the  discharge  of  bills 
carrying  interest ;  because  part  of  the  debt  due  on 
seamen's  wages  must  have  been  paid,  and  some  bills 
carried  no  hiterest  at  all.  Notwithstanding  this,  we 
find  by  an  account  in  the  journals  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  in  the  following  session,  that  the  navy 
debt  carrying  interest  was,  on  the  31st  of  December, 
1764,  no  more  than  1,687 ,442Z.  I  am  sure  therefore 
tliat  I  admit  too  much  when  I  admit  the  navy  debt 
carrying  interest,  alter  the  creation  of  the  navy  an- 
nuities in  the  year  1763,  to  liave  been  2,200,000/. 
Add   the  exchequer  bills ;  and  the  whole  unfunded 

ixllowaiice  must  always  be  made  for  tliem  in  jiidfzinf^  of  the  state  of 
the  iiiivy  debt,  thoii;rh  tbey  are  not  distin>,Miisliable  in  the  account. 
In  providing  for  tiiat  wbicii  is  payable,  the  principal  object  of  the 
legislature  is  always  to  discharge  the  bills,  for  they  are  the  greatest 
article;  they  bear  an  interest  of  4  percent;  and,  when  the  (piantity  of 
them  is  large,  they  are  a  heavy  incumbrance  upon  all  money  transac- 
tioDS  ' 


ON    THE    PRESENT    STATE    OF   THE   NATION.  305 

debt  carrying  interest  Avill  be  four  millions  instead  of 
ten  ;  and  the  annual  interest  paid  for  it  at  4  per  cent 
will  be  160,000^.  instead  of  299,250^.  An  error  of 
no  small  magnitude,  and  which  could  not  have  been 
owing  to  inadvertency. 

The  misrepresentation  of  the  increase  of  the  peace 
establishment  is  still  more  extraordinary  than  that  of  I 
the  interest  of  the  unfunded  debt.  The  increase  is 
great,  undoubtedly.  However,  the  author  finds  no 
fault  with  it,  and  urges  it  only  as  a  matter  of  argu- 
ment to  support  the  strange  chimerical  proposals  he 
is  to  make  us  in  the  close  of  his  work  for  the  increase 
of  revenue.  The  greater  he  made  that  establishment, 
the  stronger  he  expected  to  stand  in  argiiment :  but, 
whatever  he  expected  or  proposed,  he  should  have 
stated  the  matter  fairly.  He  tells  us  that  this  es- 
tablishment is  nearly  1,500,000Z.  more  than  it  was 
in  1752,  1753,  and  other  years  of  peace.  This  he 
has  done  in  his  usual  manner,  by  assertion,  without 
troubling  himself  either  with  proof  or  probability.  For 
he  has  not  given  us  any  state  of  the  peace  establish- 
ment in  the  years  1753  and  1754,  the  time  which 
he  means  to  compare-  with  the  present.  As  I  am 
obliged  to  force  him  to  that  precision,  from  which 
he  always  flies  as  from  his  most  dangerous  enemy,  I 
have  been  at  the  trouble  to  search  the  journals  in 
the  period  between  the  two  last  wars :  and  I  find 
that  the  peace  establishment,  consisting  of  the  navy, 
the  ordnance,  and  the  several  incidental  expenses, 
amounted  to  2,346,594/.  Now  is  this  writer  wild 
enough  to  imagine,  that  the  peace  establishment  of 
1764  and  the  subsequent  years,  made  up  from  the 
same  articles,  is  3,800,000/.  and  upwards  ?  His  as- 
sertion however  goes  to  this.  But  I  must  take  the 
VOL.  I.  20 


30(3  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBIJCATION 

liberty  of  correcting  him  in  this  gross  mistake,  and 
from  an  authority  he  cannot  refuse,  from  his  favorite 
work,  and  standing  autliority,  the  "  Considerations," 
We  find  there,  p.  43,*  the  peace  estabhshment  of 
1764  and  1765  stated  at  3,609,700Z.  This  is  near 
two  hundred  thousand  pounds  less  than  that  given 
in  "  The  State  of  the  Nation."  But  even  from  this, 
in  order  to  render  the  articles  which  compose  the 
peace  establishment  in  tlie  two  periods  correspondent 
(for  otherwise  they  cannot  be  compared),  we  must 
deduct  first,  his  articles  of  the  deficiency  of  land  and 
malt,  which  amount  to  300,000?.  They  certainly  are 
no  part  of  the  establishment ;  nor  are  they  included 
in  that  sum,' which  I  have  stated  above  for  the  estab- 
lishment in  the  time  of  the  former  peace.  If  they 
were  proper  to  be  stated  at  all,  they  ought  to  be 
stated  in  both  accounts.  We  must  also  deduct  the 
deficiencies  of  funds,  202,400?.  These  deficiencies 
are  the  difference  between  the  interest  charged  on  the 
public  for  moneys  borrowed,  and  the  produce  of  the 
taxes  laid  for  the  discharge  of  that  interest.  Annual 
provision  is  indeed  to  be  made  for  them  by  Parlia- 


*  Navy £1,450,900 

Army 1,268,500 

Ordnance        174,600 

The  four  American  governments 19,200 

General  surveys  in  America 1,600 

Fonndlinj^  Hospital 38,000 

To  the  African  committee 13,000 

For  the  civil  establishment  on  the  coast  of  Africa  5,500 

Militia         100,000 

Deficiency  of  liiiiil  nnd  malt           3()(),00() 

Deficiency  of  funds         202,400 

Extruordinaricij  of  the  army  and  rtavy         .     .     .  35,000 

Total       .     .     .£3,609,700 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OP  THE  NATION.    307 

ment :  but  in  the  inquiry  before  us,  which  is  only 
what  charge  is  brought  on  the  public  by  interest  paid 
or  to  be  paid  for  money  borrowed,  the  utmost  tliat 
the  author  should  do,  is  to  bring  into  the  account  the 
full  interest  for  all  that  money.  This  he  has  done 
in  p.  15  ;  and  he  repeats  it  in  p.  18,  the  very  page 
I  am  now  examining,  2,614,892Z.  To  comprehend 
afterwards  in  the  peace  establishment  the  deficiency 
of  the  fund  created  for  payment  of  that  interest, 
would  be  laying  twice  to  the  account  of  the  war  part 
of  the  same  sum.  Suppose  ten  millions  borrowed  at 
4  per  cent,  and  the  fund  for  payment  of  the  interest 
to  produce  no  more  than  200,000/.  The  whole  an 
nual  charge  on  the  public  is  400,000/.  It  can  be  no 
more.  But  to  charge  the  interest  in  one  part  of  the 
account,  and  then  the  deficiency  in  the  other,  would 
be  charging  600,000/.  The  deficiency  of  funds  must 
therefore  be  also  deducted  from  the  peace  establish- 
ment in  the  "  Considerations  "  ;  and  then  the  peace 
establishment  in  that  author  will  be  reduced  to  the 
same  articles  with  those  included  in  the  sum  I  have 
already  mentioned  for  the  peace  establishment  before 
the  last  war,  in  the  year  1753,  and  1754. 

Peace  establishment  in  the  "  Considerations  "       £  3,609,700 
Deduct  deficiency  of  land  and  malt      £  300,000 

Ditto  of  funds 202,400 

502,400 


3,107,300 


Peace  establishment  before  the  late  war,  in 
which  no  deficiencies  of  land  and  malt,  or 
funds  are  included 2,346,594 

Difference £760,706 


308  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

Being  about  half  the  sum  which  our  author  has 
been  pleased  to  suppose  it. 

Let  us  put  the  whole  together.    The  author  states,  — 

Difference  of  peace   establishment   before  and 

since  the  war.     .     . £1,500,000 

Interest  of  debt  contracted  by  the  war     .     .     .      2,614,892 

4,114,892 

The  real  difference  in  the  peace  estab- 
lishment is      £760,706 

The  actual  interest  of  the 
funded  debt,  including 
tliat  charged  on  the 
sinking   fund      .     .     .     £2,315,642 

The  actual  interest  of  un- 
funded debt  at  most  .     .        160,000 

Total  interest  of  debt  con- 
tracted by  the  war     .     .  2,475,642 

Increase  of  peace  establishment,  and  interest  of 

new  debt 3,236,348 

Error  of  the  author  .     .     .     .  £878,544 

It  is  true,  the  extraordinaries  of  the  army  have 
been  found  considerably  greater  than  the  author  of 
the  "  Considerations "  was  pleased  to  foretell  they 
would  be.  The  author  of  "The  Present  State" 
avails  himself  of  that  increase,  and,  finding  it  suit  his 
purpose,  sets  the  whole  down  in  the  peace  establish 
ment  of  the  present  times.  If  this  is  allowed  him, 
his  error  perha])S  may  be  reduced  to  700,000Z.  But 
I  doubt  the  author  of  the  "  Considerations  "  will  not 
thank  him  for  admitting  200,000/.  and  upwards,  as 
the  peace  (!stal)lislimcnt  for  extraordinaries,  when 
that  author  has  so  much  labored  to  confme  them 
within  35,000/. 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OP  THE  NATION.    309 

These  are  some  of  the  capital  fallacies  of  the  au- 
thor. To  break  the  thread  of  my  discourse  as  little 
as  possible,  I  have  thrown  into  the  margin  many  in- 
stances, though  God  knows  far  from  the  whole  of  his 
inaccuracies,  inconsistencies,  and  want  of  common 
care.  I  tliink  myself  obliged  to  take  some  notice  of 
them,  in  order  to  take  off  fi'om  any  authority  this 
writer  may  have  ;  and  to  put  an  end  to  the  deference 
which  careless  men  are  apt  to  pay  to  one  who  boldly 
arrays  his  accounts,  and  marshals  his  figures,  in  per- 
fect confidence  that  their  correctness  will  never  be 
examined.* 

*  Upon  the  money  borrowed  in  1760,  the  premium  of  one  per 
cent  was  for  twenty-one  years,  not  for  twenty ;  this  annuity  has  been 
paid  eight  years  instead  of  seven  ;  the  sum  paid  is  therefore  640,000/. 
instead  of  560,000/. ;  the  remaining  term  is  worth  ten  years  and  a 
quarter  instead  of  eleven  years;*  its  value  is  820,000/.  instead  of 
880,000/. ;  and  the  whole  value  of  that  premium  is  1,460,000/.  instead 
of  1,440,000/.  The  like  errors  are  observable  in  his  computation  on 
the  additional  capital  of  three  per  cent  on  the  loan  of  that  year.  In 
like  manner,  on  the  loan  of  1762,  the  author  computes  on  five  years' 
payment  instead  of  six ;  and  says  in  express  terms,  that  take  5  from 
19,  and  there  remain  13.  These  are  not  errors  of  the  pen  or  the 
press  ;  the  several  computations  pursued  in  this  part  of  the  work  with 
great  diligence  and  earnestness  prove  them  errors  upon  much  deliber- 
ation. Thus  the  premiums  in  1759  are  cast  up  90,000/.  too  little,  an 
error  in  the  first  rule  of  arithmetic.  "  The  annuities  borrowed  in 
1756  and  1758  are,"  says  he,  "to  continue  till  redeemed  by  Parlia- 
ment." He  does  not  take  notice  that  the  first  are  irredeemable  till  Feb- 
ruary, 1771,  the  other  till  July,  1782.  In  this  the  amount  of  the  pre- 
miums is  computed  on  the  time  which  they  have  run.  Weakly  and 
ignorantly ;  for  he  might  have  added  to  this,  and  strengthened  his  ar- 
gument, such  as  it  is,  by  charging  also  the  value  of  the  additional  one 
per  cent  from  the  day  on  which  he  wrote,  to  at  least  that  day  on  which 
these  annuities  become  redeemable.  To  make  ample  amends,  however, 
he  has  added  to  the  premiums  of  15  per  cent  in  1759,  and  three  per 

*  See  Smart  and  Demoivre. 


810  OBSEKVATIONS    ON    A   LATE    PUBLICATION 

However,  for  argument,  I  am  content  to  take  his 
state  of  it.  The  debt  was  and  is  enormous.  The 
war  was  expensive.  The  best  economy  had  not  per- 
haps been  used.  But  I  must  observe,  that  war  and 
economy  are  things  not  easily  reconciled ;  and  that 
the  attempt  of  leaning  towards  parsimony  in  such  a 
state  may  be  the  worst  management,  and  in  the  end 
the  worst  economy  in  the  world,  hazardmg  the  total 
loss  of  all  the  charge  incurred,  and  of  everything 
along  with  it. 

But  cut  bono  all  this  detail  of  our  debt  ?  Has  the 
author  given  a  smgie  light  towards  any  material  re- 
duction of  it  ?  Not  a  glimmering.  "We  shall  see  in 
its  place  what  sort  of  thing  he  proposes.  But  before 
he  commences  his  operations,  in  order  to  scare  the 
public  imagination,  he  raises  by  art  magic  a  thick 
mist  before  our  eyes,  through  which  glare  the  most 
ghastly  and  horrible  phantoms : 

Hunc  igltur  tenorem  animi  tenebrasque  necesse  est. 
Non  radii  solis,  ncque  lucida  tela  diei 
Discutiant,  scd  naturae  species  ratioque. 

Let  us  therefore  calmly,  if  we  can  for  the  fright  into 
which  he  has  put  us,  appreciate  those  dreadful  and 
deformed  gorgons  and  hydras,  which  inhabit  the  joy- 
less regions  of  an  imagination  fruitful  in  nothing  but 
the  production  of  monsters. 

His  whole  representation  is  founded  on  the  sup- 
cent  in  1760,  the  annuity  paid  for  them  since  their  commencement; 
the  fallacy  of  which  is  iiiiuiifi'st ;  for  the  jircmiunis  in  these  cases  can 
he  neither  more  nor  less  than  tlie  additional  capital  for  which  the  pub- 
lic stands  cnpaged,  and  is  just  the  same  whether  five  or  five  huiulrcd 
years'  annuity  lias  been  paid  for  it.  In  private  life,  no  man  persuades 
himself  tiiat  he  has  borrowed  200/.  i)ceausc  he  happens  to  have  paid 
tweiiiv  vrars'  interest  on  a  loan  of  100/. 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    311 

posed  operation  of  our  debt,  upon  our  manufactures, 
and  our  trade.  To  this  cause  lie  attributes  a  certain 
supposed  dearness  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  which 
must  compel  our  manufacturers  to  emigrate  to  cheap- 
er countries,  particularly  to  France,  and  with  them 
the  manufacture.  Thence  consumption  declining, 
and  with  it  revenue.  He  will  not  permit  the  real 
balance  of  our  trade  to  be  estimated  so  high  as 
2,500,000/. ;  and  the  interest  of  the  debt  to  foreigners 
carries  off  1,500,000/.  of  that  balance.  France  is  not 
in  the  same  condition.  Then  follow  his  wailings  and 
lamentings,  which  he  renews  over  and  over,  according 
to  his  custom  —  a  declining  trade,  and  decreasing  spe- 
cie—  on  the  point  of  becoming  tributary  to  France 
—  of  losing  Ireland  —  of  having  the  colonies  torn 
away  from  us. 

The  first  thing  upon  which  I  shall  observe  is,*  what 
he  takes  for  granted  as  the  clearest  of  all  propositions, 
the  emigration  of  our  manufacturers  to  France.  I 
undertake  to  say  that  this  assertion  is  totally  ground- 
less, and  I  challenge  the  author  to  bring  any  sort  of 
proof  of  it.  If  living  is  cheaper  in  France,  that  is,  to 
be  had  for  less  specie,  wages  are  proportionably  lower. 
No  manufacturer,  let  the  living  be  what  it  will,  was 
ever  known  to  fly  for  refuge  to  low  wages.  Money  is 
the  first  thing  which  attracts  him.  Accordingly  our 
wages  attract  artificers  from  all  parts  of  the  world. 
From  two  shillings  to  one  shilling,  is  a  fall  in  all 
men's  imaginations,  which  no  calculation  upon  a  dif- 
ference in  the  price  of  the  necessaries  of  life  can  com- 
pensate. But  it  will  be  hard  to  prove  that  a  French 
artificer  is  better  fed,  clothed,  lodged,  and  warmed, 
than  one  in  England ;  for  that  is  the  sense,  and  the 

*  Pages  30-32. 


312  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

only  sense,  of  living  cheaper.  If,  in  truth  and  fact, 
our  artificer  fares  as  well  in  all  these  respects  as  one 
in  the  same  state  in  France,  —  how  stands  the  ma,tter 
in  point  of  opinion  and  prejudice,  the  springs  by 
which  people  in  that  class  of  life  are  chiefly  actuated? 
The  idea  of  our  common  people  concerning  French 
living  is  dreadful ;  altogether  as  dreadful  as  our  au- 
thor's can  possibly  be  of  the  state  of  his  own  country  ; 
a  way  of  thinking  that  will  hardly  ever  prevail  on 
them  to  desert  to  France.* 

But,  leaving  the  author's  speculations,  the  fact  is, 
that  they  have  not  deserted  ;  and  of  course  the  man- 
ufacture cannot  be  departed,  or  departing,  with  them. 
I  am  not  indeed  able  to  get  at  all  the  details  of  our 
manufactures  ;  though,  I  think,  I  have  taken  full  as 
much  pains  for  that  purpose  as  our  author.  Some  I 
have  by  me ;  and  they  do  not  hitherto,  thank  God, 
support  the  author's  complaint,  unless  a  vast  increase 
of  the  quantity  of  goods  manufactured  be  a  proof  of 
losing  the  manufacture.  On  a  view  of  the  registers 
in  the  West  Riding  of  Yorkshire,  for  three  years  be- 
fore the  war,  and  for  the  three  last,  it  appears,  that 
the  quantities  of  cloths  entered  were  as  follows : 


Pieces  broad. 

Pieces  narrow, 

1752     .     . 

.     .     60,724     .     . 

.     .     72,442 

1753     .     . 

.     .     55,358     .     . 

.     .     71,(U8 

1754     .     . 

.     .     56,070     .     . 

.     .     72,394 

172,152  216,454 


•  In  a  course  of  years  a  few  manufacturers  have  l)een  tempted 
abroad,  not  by  cheap  living,  but  by  immense  premiums,  tr  sot  up  as 
masters,  and  to  iniroduco  the  manufacture.  This  must  luvi)pcn  in 
every  country  eminent  for  the  skill  of  it«  artificers,  and  has  notliing 
to  do  with  taxes  and  the  price  of  provisions. 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE    OF    THE    NATION.         313 


Pieces  broad. 

Pieces  narrow. 

1765     . 

.     .      54,660     , 

.     .      77,419 

1766     . 

.       72,575     , 

.     .      78,893 

1767     . 

.     102,428     . 

,     .      78,819 

3  years,  ending  1767     .     .     229,663     .     .     235,131 
3  years,  ending  1754     .     .     172,152     .     .     216,454 

Increase      57,511     .     .      18,677 

In  this  manner  this  capital  branch  of  manufacture 
has  increased,  under  the  increase  of  taxes  ;  and  this 
not  from  a  declining,  but  from  a  greatly  flourishing 
period  of  commerce.  I  may  say  the  same  on  the  best 
authority  of  the  fabric  of  thin  goods  at  Halifax ;  of 
the  bays  at  Rochdale  ;  and  of  that  infinite  variety  of 
admirable  maniifactures  that  grow  and  extend  every 
year  among  the  spirited,  inventive,  and  enterprising 
traders  of  Manchester. 

A  trade  sometimes  seems  to  perish  when  it  only  as- 
sumes a  different  form.  Thus  the  coarsest  woollens 
were  formerly  exported  in  great  quantities  to  Russia. 
The  Russians  now  supply  themselves  with  these  goods. 
But  the  export  thither  of  finer  cloths  has  increased  in 
proportion  as  the  other  has  declined.  Possibly  some 
parts  of  the  kingdom  may  have  felt  something  like  a 
languor  in  business.  Objects  like  trade  and  man- 
ufacture, which  the  very  attempt  to  confine  would 
certainly  destroy,  frequently  change  their  place  ; 
and  thereby,  far  from  being  lost,  are  often  highly 
improved.  Thus  some  manufactures  have  decayed 
m  the  west  and  south,  which  have  made  new  and 
more  vigorous  shoots  when  transplanted  into  the 
north.  And  here  it  is  impossible  to  pass  by,  though 
the  author  has  said  nothing  upon  it,  the  vast  addi- 
tion to  the  mass  of  British  trade,  which  has  been 


314  OBSERVATIONS    OX    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

made  by  the  improvement  of  Scotland.  Wliat  does 
he  think  of  the  commerce  of  the  city  of  Glasgow,  and 
of  the  manufactures  of  Paisley  and  all  the  adjacent 
country  ?  has  this  anything  like  the  deadly  aspect 
and  fades  Hijjpoeratica  which  the  false  diagnostic  of 
our  state  physician  has  given  to  our  trade  in  general  ? 
Has  he  not  heard  of  the  iron-works  of  such  magni- 
tude even  in .  their  cradle  which  are  set  up  on  the 
Carron,  and  which  at  the  same  time  have  dravs^n 
nothing  from  SheJBfield,  Birmingham,  or  Wolver- 
hampton ? 

This  might  perhaps  be  enough  to  show  the  entire 
falsity  of  the  complaint  concerning  the  declme  of  our 
manufactures.  But  every  step  we  advance,  this  mat- 
ter clears  up  more ;  and  the  false  terrors  of  the  author 
are  dissipated,  and  fade  away  as  the  light  appears. 
"  The  trade  and  manufactures  of  this  country  (says 
he)  going  to  ruin,  and  a  diminution  of  our  revenue 
from  consumption  must  attend  the  loss  of  so  many 
seamen  and  artificers."  Nothing  more  true  than  the 
general  observation  :  nothing  more  false  than  its  ap- 
plication to  our  circumstances.  Let  the  revenue  on 
consumption  speak  for  itself :  — 

Average  of  net  excise,  since  the  new  du- 
ties, three  years  ending  1767     .     .     .   £4,590,734 

Ditto  before  the  new  duties,  three  years 

ending  1759 3,261,694 

Average  increase     .     .     .   .£1,329,040 

Here  is  no  diminution.  Hero  is,  on  the  contrary,  an 
immense  increase.  This  is  owing,  I  sliall  be  told,  to 
the  new  duties,  wliich  may  increase  the  total  bulk, 
but  at  the  same  time  may  make  some  diminution  of 
the  produce  of  the  old.     Were  this  the  fact,  it  would 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF   THE   NATION.         315 

be  far  from  supporting  the  author's  complaint.  It 
might  have  proved  that  the  burden  lay  rather  too 
heavy  ;  but  it  would  never  prove  that  the  revenue 
from  consumption  was  impaired,  which  it  was  his  busi- 
ness to  do.  But  what  is  the  real  fact  ?  Let  us  take, 
as-  the  best  instance  for  the  purpose,  the  produce  of 
the  old  hereditary  and  temporary  excise  granted  in 
the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  whose  object  is  that 
of  most  of  the  new  impositions,  from  two  averages, 
each  of  eight  years. 

Average,  first  period,  eight  years,  ending 

17o4 sjoAo^oxi 

Ditto,  second  period,  eight  years,  ending 
1767 538,542 


Increase     .     .     .     .£13,225 

I  have  taken  these  averages  as  including  in  each  a 
war  and  a  peace  period ;  the  first  before  the  imposi- 
tion of  the  new  duties,  the  other  since  those  imposi- 
tions ;  and  such  is  the  state  of  the  oldest  branch  of 
the  revenue  from  consumption.  Besides  the  acquisi- 
tion of  so  much  new,  this  article,  to  speak  of  no  other, 
has  rather  increased  under  the  pressure  of  all  those 
additional  taxes  to  which  the  author  is  pleased  to  at- 
tribute its  destruction.  But  as  tlie  author  has  made 
his  grand  effort  against  those  moderate,  judicious,  and 
necessary  levies,  which  support  all  the  dignity,  the 
credit,  and  the  power  of  his  country,  the  reader  will 
excuse  a  little  further  detail  on  this  subject ;  that  we 
may  see  how  little  oppressive  those  taxes  are  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  public,  with  which  he  labors  so  ear- 
nestly to  load  its  imagination.  For  this  purpose  we 
take  the  state  of  that  specific  article  upon  which  the 
two  capital  burdens  of  the  war  leaned  the  most  im- 


316  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE    PUBLICATION 

mediately,  by  the  additional  duties  on  malt,  and  upon 
beer. 

Barrels. 

Average  of  gtrong  beer,  brewed  in  eight 
years  before  the  additional  malt  and 
beer  duties 3,895,059 

Average  of  strong  beer,  eight  years  since 

the  duties 4,060,726 

Increase  in  the  last  period     .       165,667 

Here  is  the  effect  of  two  such  daring  taxes  as  Sd.  by 
the  bushel  additional  on  malt,  and  3s.  by  the  barrel 
additional  on  beer.  Two  impositions  laid  without 
remission  one  upon  the  neck  of  the  other ;  and  laid 
upon  an  object  which  before  had  been  immensely 
loaded.  They  did  not  in  the  least  impair  the  con- 
sumption :  it  has  grown  under  them.  It  appears 
that,  upon  the  whole,  the  people  did  not  feel  so  much 
inconvenience  from  the  new  duties  as  to  oblige  them 
to  take  refuge  in  the  private  brewery.  Quite  the 
contrary  happened  in  both  these  respects  in  the  reign 
of  King  William  ;  and  it  happened  from  much  slighter 
impositions.*  No  people  can  long  consume  a  com- 
modity for  which  they  are  not  well  able  to  pay.  An 
enlightened  reader  laughs  at  the  inconsistent  cliimera 

*  Althoufih  the  public  brewery  has  considerably  increased  in  this 
latter  period,  the  produce  of  the  malt-tax  has  been  something;  less  than 
in  the  former ;  this  cannot  be  attributed  to  the  new  malt-tax.  Had 
this  been  the  cause  of  the  lessened  consumption,  the  public  brewery, 
BO  niiich  more  burdened,  must  have  felt  it  more.  The  cause  of  this 
diminution  of  the  malt-tax  I  take  to  have  been  prineijially  owin;;  to 
the  ^jreater  dearncss  of  corn  in  the  second  period  than  in  the  first, 
which,  in  nil  its  consequences,  nflTected  the  people  in  the  country  mucli 
iiKire  than  those  in  the  towns.  But  the  revcnne  from  C()nsumi)tion 
was  not,  on  the  whole,  impaire<l  ;  as  we  have  seen  in  the  foregoing 
page. 


ON   THE   PRESENT    STATE    OP   THE    NATION.  317 

of  our  author,  of  a  people  universally  luxurious,  and 
at  the  same  time  oppressed  with  taxes  and  declin- 
ing in  trade.  For  my  part,  I  cannot  look  on  these 
duties  as  the  author  does.  He  sees  nothing  but  the 
burden.  I  can  perceive  the  burden  as  well  as  he  ;  but 
I  cannot  avoid  contemplating  also  the  strength  that 
supports  it.  From  thence  I  draw  the  most  comfort- 
able assurances  of  the  future  vigor,  and  the  ample 
resources,  of  this  great,  misrepresented  countiy  ;  and 
can  never  prevail  on  myself  to  make  complaints 
which  have  no  cause,  in  order  to  raise  hopes  which 
have  no  foundation. 

When  a  representation  is  built  on  truth  and  nature, 
one  member  supports  the  other,  and  mutual  lights 
are  given  and  received  from  every  part.  Thus,  as 
our  manufacturers  have  not  deserted,  nor  the  manu- 
facture left  us,  nor  the  consumption  declined,  nor  the 
revenue  sunk  ;  so  neitlier  has  trade,  which  is  at  once 
the  result,  measure,  and  cause  of  the  whole,  in  the 
least  decayed,  as  our  author  has  thought  proper 
sometimes  to  affirm,  constantly  to  suppose,  as  if  it 
were  the  most  indisputable  of  all  propositions.  The 
reader  will  see  below  the  comparative  state  of  our 
trade  *  in  three  of  the  best  years  before  our  increase 
of  debt  and  taxes,  and  with  it  the  three  last  years 
since  the  author's  date  of  our  ruin. 

*  Total  Imports,  value,  Exports,  ditto. 

1752  .     .  £7,889,369 £11,694,912 

1753  .     .       8,625,029 12,243,604 

1754  .     .      8,093,472 11,787,828 

Total        £  24,607,870  35,726,344 

24,607,870 
Exports  exceed  imports  .  .  11,118,474 
Medium  balance £3,706,158 


318  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

In  the  last  three  years  the  whole  of  our  exports 
was  between  44  and  45  millions.  In  the  three  years 
preceding  the  war,  it  was  no  more  than  from  35  to 
36  millions.  The  average  balance  of  the  former  pe- 
riod was  3,706, OOOZ.;  of  the  latter,  something  above 
four  millions.  It  is  true,  that  wliilst  the  impressions 
of  the  author's  destructive  war  continued,  our  trade 
was  greater  than  it  is  at  present.  One  of  the  neces- 
sary consequences  of  the  peace  was,  that  France  must 
gradually  recover  a  part  of  those  markets  of  which 
she  had  been  originally  in  possession.  However,  af- 
ter all  these  deductions,  still  the  gross  trade  in  the 
worst  year  of  the  present  is  better  than  in  the  best 
year  of  any  former  period  of  peace.  A  very  great 
part  of  our  taxes,  if  not  the  greatest,  has  been  imposed 
since  the  beginning  of  the  century.  On  the  author's 
principles,  this  continual  increase  of  taxes  must  have 
ruined  our  trade,  or  at  least  entirely  checked  its 
growth.  But  I  have  a  manuscript  of  Davenant, 
which  contains  an  abstract  of  our  trade  for  the  years 
1703  and  1704 ;  by  which  it  appears  that  the  whole 
export  from  England  did  not  then  exceed  6,552,019Z. 
It  is  now  considerably  more  than  double  that  amount. 
Yet  England  was  then  a  rich  and  flourishing  nation. 

The  author  endeavors  to  derogate  from  the  balance 
in  our  favor  as  it  stands  on  the  entries,  and  reduces 

Total  Imports,  value,  Exports,  ditto. 

1764  .     .  £10,319,946 £16,164.532 

1765  .     .       10,889,742 14,550.507 

1766  .     .        11,475,825 14,024,964 

Total  £32,685,513  44,740,003 

32,6R5,M3 

Exports  exceed 12,054,490 

Medium  ''ulimcc  for  three  last  jcnis     £4,018,163 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    319 

it  from  four  millions,  as  it  there  appears,  to  no  more 
than  2,500,000Z.  His  observation  on  the  looseness 
and  inaccuracy  of  the  export  entries  is  just ;  and  that 
the  error  is  always  an  error  of  excess,  I  readily  admit. 
But  because,  as  usual,  he  has  wholly  omitted  some 
very  material  facts,  his  conclusion  is  as  erroneous  as 
the  entries  he  complains  of. 

On  this  point  of  the  custom-house  entries  I  shall 
make  a  few  observations.  1st.  The  inaccuracy  of 
these  entries  can  extend  only  to  Free  Goods,  that  is, 
to  such  British  products  and  manufactures,  as  are  ex- 
ported without  drawback  and  without  bounty  ;  which 
do  not  in  general  amount  to  more  than  two  thirds  at 
the  very  utmost  of  the  whole  export  even  of  our  liome 
'products.  The  valuable  articles  of  corn,  malt,  leather, 
hops,  beer,  and  many  others,  do  not  come  under  this 
objection  of  inaccuracy.  The  article  of  Certificate 
Goods  re-exported,  a  vast  branch  of  our  commerce, 
admits  of  no  error,  (except  some  smaller  frauds  which 
cannot  be  estimated,)  as  they  have  all  a  drawback  of 
duty,  and  the  exporter  must  therefore  correctly  spe- 
cify their  quantity  and  kind.  The  author  therefore  is 
not  warranted  from  the  known  error  in  some  of  the 
entries,  to  make  a  general  defalcation  from  the  whole 
balance  in  our  favor.  This  error  cannot  atfect  more 
than  half,  if  so  much,  of  the  export  article.  2dly. 
In  the  account  made  up  at  the  Inspector-Generars 
office,  they  estimate  only  the  original  cost  of  British 
products  as  they  are  here  purchased  ;  and  on  foreign 
goods,  only  the  prices  in  the  country  from  whence  they 
are  sent.  This  was  the  method  established  by  Mr. 
Davenant ;  and  as  far  as  it  goes,  it  certainly  is  a  good 
one.  But  the  prohts  of  the  merchant  at  home,  and 
<jf  our  factories  abroad,  are  not  taken  into  the  ac- 


320  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE    PUBLICATION 

count ;  which  profit  on  sucli  an  immense  quantity  of 
goods  exported  and  re-exported  cannot  fail  of  being 
very  great :  five  per  cent,  upon  the  whole,  I  should 
think,  a  very  moderate  allowance,  odly.  It  does 
not  comprehend  the  advantage  arising  from  the  em- 
ployment of  600,000  tons  of  shipping,  which  must  be 
paid  by  the  foreign  consumer,  and  which,  in  many 
bulky  articles  of  commerce,  is  equal  to  the  value  of 
the  commodity.  This  can  scarcely  be  rated  at  less 
than  a  million  annually.  4thly.  The  whole  import 
from  Ireland  and  America,  and  from  the  West  Indies, 
is  set  against  us  in  the  ordinary  way  of  striking  a  bal- 
ance of  imports  and  exports  ;  whereas  the  import  and 
export  are  both  our  own.  This  is  just  as  ridiculous, 
as  to  put  against  the  general  balance  of  the  nation, 
how  much  more  goods  Cheshire  receives  from  London 
than  London  from  Cheshire.  The  whole  revolves  and 
circulates  through  this  kingdom,  and  is,  so  far  as  re- 
gards our  profit,  in  the  nature  of  home  trade,  as  much 
as  if  the  several  countries  of  America  and  Ireland 
were  all  pieced  to  Cornwall,  The  course  of  exchange 
with  all  these  places  is  fully  sufiiciont  to  demonstrate 
that  this  kingdom  lias  the  whole  advantage  of  their 
commerce.  Wlicn  the  final  profit  upon  a  whole  sys- 
tem of  trade  rests  and  centres  in  a  certain  place,  a 
balance  struck  in  that  place  merely  on  the  mutual 
sale  of  commodities  is  quite  fallacious.  5thly.  The 
custom-house  entries  furnish  a  most  defective,  and, 
indeed,  ridiculous  idea  of  the  most  valuable  branch 
of  trade  we  have  in  the  world,  —  that  with  New- 
foiindhiiid.  Observe  what  you  export  tliitlicr  ;  a  lit- 
tle sjjirits,  provision,  (ishing-lines,  and  fishing-hooks. 
Is  this  export  the  true  idea  of  the  Newfoundland  trade 
in  the  light  of  a  beneficial    branch  of  commerce  ? 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF   THE   NATION.         321 

Nothing  less.  Examine  our  imports  from  thence  ;  it 
seems  upon  this  vulgar  idea  of  exports  and  imports, 
to  turn  the  balance  against  you.  But  your  exports 
to  Newfoundland  are  your  own  goods.  Your  import 
is  your  own  food ;  as  much  your  own,  as  that  you 
raise  with  your  ploughs  out  of  your  own  soil ;  and 
not  your  loss,  but  your  gain ;  your  riches,  not  your 
poverty.  But  so  fallacious  is  this  way  of  judging, 
that  neither  the  export  nor  import,  nor  both  together, 
supply  any  idea  approaching  to  adequate  of  that 
branch  of  business.  The  vessels  in  that  trade  go 
straight  from  Newfoundland  to  the  foreign  market ; 
and  the  sale  there,  not  the  import  here,  is  the  meas- 
ure of  its  value.  That  trade,  which  is  one  of  your 
greatest  and  best,  is  hardly  so  much  as  seen  in  the 
custom-house  entries ;  and  it  is  not  of  less  annual 
value  to  this  nation  than  400,000/.  6thly.  The  qual- 
ity of  your  imports  must  be  considered  as  well  as 
the  quantity.  To  state  the  whole  of  the  foreign  im- 
port as  loss,  is  exceedingly  absurd.  All  the  iron, 
hemp,  flax,  cotton,  Spanish  wool,  raw  silk,  woollen 
and  linen-yarn,  which  we  import,  are  by  no  means  to 
be  considered  as  the  matter  of  a  merely  luxurious 
consumption  ;  which  is  the  idea  too  generally  and 
loosely  annexed  to  our  import  article.  These  above 
mentioned  are  materials  of  industry,  not  of  luxury, 
which  are  wrought  up  here,  in  many  instances,  to 
ten  times,  and  more,  of  their  original  value.  Even 
where  they  are  not  subservient  to  our  exports,  they 
still  add  to  our  internal  wealth,  which  consists  in  the 
stock  of  useful  commodities,  as  much  as  in  gold  and 
silver.  In  looking  over  the  specific  articles  of  our  ex- 
port and  import,  I  have  often  been  astonished  to  see 
for  how  small  a  part  of  the  supply  of  our  consump- 

VOL.  I.  21 


822  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE  PUBLICATION 

tion,  either  luxurious  or  convenient,  we  are  indebted 
to  nations  properly  foreign  to  us. 

These  considerations  are  entirely  passed  over  by 
the  author ;  they  have  been  but  too  much  neglected 
by  most  who  have  speculated  on  this  subject.  But 
they  ought  never  to  be  omitted  by  those  who  mean 
to  come  to  anything  like  the  true  state  of  the  British 
trade.  They  compensate,  and  they  more  than  com- 
pensate, everything  which  the  author  can  cut  off  with 
any  appearance  of  reason  for  the  over-entry  of  British 
goods ;  and  they  restore  to  us  that  balance  of  four 
millions,  which  tlie  author  has  thought  proper  on  such 
a  very  poor  and  Ihnited  comprehension  of  the  object 
to  reduce  to  2,500,000/. 

In  general  this  author  is  so  circumstanced,  that  to 
support  his  theory  he  is  obliged  to  assume  his  facts  : 
and  then,  if  you  allow  his  facts,  they  will  not  support 
his  conclusions.  What  if  all  he  says  of  the  state  of  this 
balance  were  true  ?  did  not  the  same  objections  always 
lie  to  custom-house  entries  ?  do  they  defalcate  more 
from  the  entries  of  1766  than  from  those  of  1754  ? 
If  they  prove  us  ruined,  we  were  always  ruined. 
Some  ravens  have  always  indeed  croaked  out  this 
kind  of  song.  They  have  a  malignant  dcliglit  in 
presaging  mischief,  when  they  are  not  employed  in 
doing  it:  they  are  miserable  and  disappointed  at 
every  instance  of  the  public  prosperity.  They  over- 
look us  like  the  malevolent  being  of  tlio  poet :  — 

Tritoniflaconspicit  nrccm 
Inpcniis,  opihiisquc,  et  fcsta  pace  vircntcm  ; 
Vixfiuc  tenet  locrymas  quill  nil  Iacryinal)ilc  ccrnit. 

It  is  in  tliis  spirit  that  some  have  looked  npon 
those  uccidcMils  tliat  cast  an  occasional  damp  upon 
trade.     Their    imaginations    cnfail     these    accidents 


ON  THE  PEESENT   STATE   OF   THE  NATION.         323 

upon  US  in  perpetuity.  We  have  had  some  bad  har- 
vests. This  must  very  disadvantageously  affect  the 
balance  of  trade,  and  the  navigation  of  a  people,  so 
large  a  part  of  whose  commerce  is  in  grain.  But,  in 
knowing  the  cause,  we  are  morally  certain,  that, 
according  to  the  course  of  events,  it  cannot  long  sub- 
sist. Li  the  three  last  years,  we  have  exported  scarce- 
ly any  grain  ;  in  good  years,  that  export  hath  been 
worth  twelve  hundred  thousand  pounds  and  more ; 
in  the  two  last  years,  far  from  exporting,  we  have 
been  obliged  to  import  to  the  amount  perhaps  of  our 
former  exportation.  So  that  in  this  article  the  bal- 
ance must  be  2,000,000?.  against  us  ;  that  is,  one 
million  in  the  ceasing  of  gain,  the  other  in  the  in- 
crease of  expenditure.  But  nona  of  the  author's 
promises  or  projects  could  have  prevented  this  mis- 
fortune ;  and,  thank  God,  we  do  not  want  him  or 
them  to  relieve  us  from  it ;  although,  if  his  friends 
should  now  come  into  power,  I  doubt  not  but  they 
will  be  ready  to  take  credit  for  any  increase  of  trade 
or  excise,  that  may  arise  from  the  happy  circum- 
stance of  a  good  harvest. 

This  connects  with  his  loud  laments  and  melan- 
choly prognostications  concerning  the  high  price  of 
the  necessaries  of  life  and  the  products  of  labor. 
With  all  his  others,  I  deny  this  fact ;  and  I  again 
call  upon  him  to  prove  it.  Take  average  and  not 
accident,  the  grand  and  first  necessary  of  life  is 
cheap  in  this  country;  and  that  too  as  weighed, 
not  against  labor,  which  is  its  true  counterpoise,  but 
against  money.  Does  he  call  the  price  of  wheat  at 
this  day,  between  32  and  40  shillings  per  quarter  in 
London  dear  ?  *     He  must  know  that  fuel  (an  object 

*  It  is  dearer  in  some  places,  and  rather  cheaper  in  others  ;  but  it 
must  soon  all  come  to  a  level. 


324  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A   LATE    PUBLICATION 

of  the  highest  order  in  the  necessaries  of  life,  and  of 
the  first  necessity  in  almost  every  kind  of  manufac- 
ture) is  in  many  of  our  provinces  cheaper  than  in  any 
part  of  the  glohe.  Meat  is  on  the  whole  not  exces- 
sively dear,  whatever  its  price  may  be  at  particular 
times  and  from  particular  accidents.  If  it  has  had 
anything  like  an  uniform  rise,  this  enhancement 
may  easily  be  proved  not  to  be  owing  to  the  increase 
of  taxes,  but  to  uniform  increase  of  consumption  and 
of  money.  Diminish  the  latter,  and  meat  in  your 
markets  will  be  sufficiently  cheap  in  account,  but 
much  dearer  in  effect :  because  fewer  will  be  in  a 
condition  to  buy.  Thus  your  apparent  plenty  will 
be  real  indigence.  At  present,  even  under  tempo- 
rary disadvantages,  the  use  of  flesh  is  greater  here 
than  anywhere  else  ;  it  is  continued  without  any  iiv- 
terruption  of  Lents  or  meagre  days ;  it  is  sustained 
and  growing  even  with  the  increase  of  our  taxes. 
But  some  have  the  art  of  converting  even  the  signs 
of  national  prosperity  into  symptoms  of  decay  and 
ruin.  And  our  author,  who  so  loudly  disclaims  po[)- 
ularity,  never  fails  to  lay  hold  of  the  most  vulgar 
popular  prejudices  and  humors,  in  hopes  to  capti- 
vate the  crowd.  Even  those  peevish  dispositions 
which  grow  out  of  some  transitoiy  suffering,  those 
passing  clouds  which  float  in  our  changeable  atmos- 
phere, are  by  him  industriously  figured  into  fright- 
ful shapes,  in  order  first  to  terrify,  and  then  to  govern 
the  populace. 

It  was  not  enough  for  the  author's  purpose  to  give 
this  false  and  discouraging  picture  of  the  state  of  his 
own  country.  It  did  not  fully  answer  his  end,  to  ex- 
aggerate her  burdens,  to  dcjtrociatc  her  successes,  and 
to  vilify  her  cliaracter.     Nothing  had  l)een  done,  un- 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    325 

less  the  situation  of  France  were  exalted  in  propor- 
tion as  that  of  England  had  been  abased.  The  reader 
will  excuse  the  citation  I  make  at  length  from  his 
book ;  he  outdoes  himself  upon  this  occasion.  His 
confidence  is  indeed  unparalleled,  and  altogether  of 
the  heroic  cast :  — 

"  If  our  rival  nations  were  in  the  same  circum- 
stances with  ourselves,  the  augmentation  of  our  taxes 
would  produce  no  ill  consequences  :  if  we  were  obliged 
to  raise  our  prices,  tliey  must,  from  the  same  causes, 
do  the  like,  and  could  take  no  advantage  by  under- 
selling and  under- working  us.  But  the  alarming 
consideration  to  Great  Britain  is,  that  France  is  not 
in  the  same  condition.  Her  distresses,  during  the 
war,  were  great,  but  they  were  immediate  ;  her  want 
of  credit,  as  has  been  said,  compelled  her  to  impover- 
ish her  people,  by  raising  the  greatest  part  of  her  sui> 
plies  within  the  year ;  but  the  burdens  she  imposed  on 
them  were,  in  a  great  measure,  temporary,  and  must  be 
greatly  dirninished  by  a  few  years  of  peace.  She  could 
procure  no  considerable  loans,  therefore  she  has  mort- 
gaged no  such  oppressive  taxes  as  those  Grreat  Britain  has 
imposed  in  perpetuity  for  payment  of  interest.  Peace 
must,  therefore,  soon  re-establish  her  commerce  and 
manufactures,  especially  as  the  comparative  lightness 
of  taxes,  and  the  cheapness  of  living,  in  that  country, 
must  make  France  an  asylum  for  British  manufac- 
turers and  artificers."  On  this  the  author  rests  the 
merit  of  his  whole  system.  And  on  this  point  I  will 
join  issue  with  him.  If  France  is  not  at  least  in  the 
same  condiUon,  even  in  tliat  very  condition  which  the 
author  falsely  represents  to  be  ours,  —  if  the  very  re- 
verse of  his  proposition  be  not  true,  then  I  will  admit 
his  state  of  the  nation  to  be  just ;  and  all  his  infereu' 


326  OBSERVATIONS    ON   A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

ces  from  that  state  to  be  logical  and  conclusive.  It 
is  not  surprising,  that  the  author  should  hazard  our 
opinion  of  his  veracity.  That  is  a  virtue  on  which 
great  statesmen  do  not  perhaps  pique  themselves  so 
much ;  but  it  is  somewhat  extraordinary,  that  he 
should  stake  on  a  very  poor  calculation  of  chances, 
all  credit  for  care,  for  accuracy,  and  for  knowledge 
of  the  subject  of  which  he  treats.  He  is  rash  and 
inaccurate,  because  he  thinks  he  writes  to  a  public 
Ignorant  and  inattentive.  But  he  may  find  himself 
in  that  respect,  as  in  many  others,  greatly  mistaken. 
In  order  to  contrast  the  light  and  vigorous  condi- 
tion of  France  with  that  of  England,  weak,  and  sink- 
ing under  her  burdens,  he  states,  in  his  tenth  page, 
that  France  had  raised  50,314,378^.  sterling  hy  taxes 
within  the  several  years  from  the  year  1756  to  1762 
both  inclusive.  An  Englishman  must  stand  aghast 
at  such  a  representation :  To  find  France  able  to  raise 
loithin  the  year  sums  little  inferior  to  all  that  we  were 
able  even  to  horroiv  on  interest  with  all  the  resources 
of  the  greatest  and  most  established  credit  in  the 
world !  Europe  was  filled  with  astonishment  when 
they  saw  England  borrow  in  one  year  twelve  millions. 
It  was  thought,  and  very  justly,  no  small  proof  of  na- 
tional strength  and  financial  skill,  to  find  a  fund  for 
the  payment  of  the  interest  upon  this  sum.  The  in- 
terest of  this,  computed  with  the  one  per  cent  annu- 
ities, amonnted  only  to  600,000?.  a  year.  This,  I  say, 
was  thought  a  surprising  efibrt  even  of  credit.  But 
this  author  talks,  as  of  a  thing  not  worth  proving, 
and  ])ut  just  worth  observing,  that  France  in  one  year 
raised  sixteen  times  that  sum  without  borrowing,  and 
cuntiuued  to  raise  sums  not  fiir  from  equal  to  it  for 
several  years  together.     Su p|)ose  some  Jacob  Hen- 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    327 

nqiies  had  proposed,  in  the  year  1Y62,  to  prevent  a 
perpetual  charge  on  the  nation  by  raising  ten  mil- 
lions within  the  year :  he  would  have  been  consid- 
ered, not  as  a  harsli  financier,  who  laid  a  heavy  hand 
on  the  public ;  but  as  a  poor  visionary,  who  had  run 
mad  on  supplies  and  taxes.  They  who  know  that  the 
whole  land-tax  of  England,  at  4s.  in  the  pound,  raises 
but  two  millions,  will  not  easily  apprehend  that  any 
such  sums  as  the  author  has  conjured  up  can  be 
raised  even  in  the  most  opulent  nations.  France 
owed  a  large  debt,  and  was  encumbered  with  heavy 
establishments,  before  that  war.  The  author  does 
not  formally  deny  that  she  borrowed  something  in 
every  year  of  its  continuance ;  let  him  produce  the 
funds  for  this  astonishing  annual  addition  to  all  her 
vast  preceding  taxes  ;  an  addition  equal  to  the  whole 
excise,  customs,  land  and  malt-taxes  of  England  taken 
together. 

But  what  must  be  the  reader's  astonishment,  per- 
haps his  indignation,  if  he  should  find  that  this  great 
financier  has  fallen  into  the  most  unaccountable  of  all 
errors,  no  less  an  error  than  that  of  mistaking  the 
ideyitical  sums  horroived  hy  France  upon  interest,  for 
supplies  raised  ivithin  the  year !  Can  it  be  conceived 
that  any  man,  only  entered  into  the  first  rudiments 
of  finance,  should  make  so  egregious  a  blunder ; 
should  write  it,  should  print  it ;  should  carry  it  to  a 
second  edition ;  should  take  it  not  collaterally  and 
incidentally,  but  lay  it  down  as  the  corner-stone  of 
his  whole  system,  in  such  an  important  point  as  the 
comparative  states  of  France  and  England  ?  But  it 
will  be  said,  that  it  was  his  misfortune  to  be  ill-in- 
formed. Not  at  all.  A  man  of  any  loose  general 
knowledge,  and  of  the  most  ordinary  sagacity,  never 


328  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

could  have  been  misinformed  in  so  gross  a  manner  ; 
because  he  would  have  immediately  rejected  so  wild 
and  extravagant  an  account. 

The  fact  is  this  :  the  credit  of  France,  bad  as  it 
might  have  been,  did  enable  her  (not  to  raise  within 
the  year)  but  to  borrow  the  very  sums  the  author 
mentions ;  that  is  to  say,  1,106,916,261  livres,  mak- 
ing, in  the  author's  computation,  50,314,378?.  The 
credit  of  France  was  low  ;  but  it  was  not  annihilated. 
She  did  not  derive,  as  our  author  chooses  to  assert, 
any  advantages  from  the  debility  of  her  credit.  Its 
consequence  was  the  natural  one :  she  borrowed ; 
but  she  borrowed  upon  bad  terms,  indeed  on  the 
most  exorbitant  usury. 

In  speaking  of  a  foreign  revenue,  the  very  pretence 
to  accuracy  would  be  the  most  inaccurate  thing  in 
the  world.  Neither  the  author  nor  I  can  with  cer- 
tainty authenticate  the  information  we  communicate 
to  the  public,  nor  in  an  afliiir  of  eternal  fluctuation 
arrive  at  perfect  exactness.  All  we  can  do,  and  this 
we  may  be  expected  to  do,  is  to  avoid  gross  errors 
and  blunders  of  a  capital  nature.  We  cannot  order 
the  proper  officer  to  lay  the  accounts  before  the  House. 
But  the  reader  must  judge  on  tlie  probability  of  the 
accounts  we  lay  before  him.  The  author  speaks  of 
France  as  raising  her  supplies  for  war  by  taxes  with- 
in the  year ;  and  of  her  debt,  as  a  thing  scarcely 
wortliy  of  notice.  I  affirm  that  she  borrowed  largo 
sums  in  every  year  ;  and  has  tlicreby  accumulated  an 
inuncnsc  del)t.  Tbis  de))t  continued  after  tlic  war 
infinitely  to  embarrass  her  allairs ;  and  to  find  some 
means  for  its  reduction  was  then  and  has  over  since 
been  the  first  objtjct  of  h(;r  polii^y.  Jhit  she  lias 
80  little  succeeded  in   all  lier  ellbrts,  that  the  per- 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    329 

pehial  debt  of  France  is  at  this  hour  little  sliort  of 
100,000,000/.  sterling ;  and  she  stands  charged  with 
at  least  40,000,000  of  English  pounds  on  life-rents  and 
tontines.  The  annuities  paid  at  this  day  at  the  Hotel 
de  Ville  of  Paris,  which  are  by  no  means  her  sole 
payments  of  that  nature,  amount  to  189,000,000  of 
livres,  that  is  to  6,318, OOOL  ;  besides  billets  au  porteur, 
and  various  detached  and  unfunded  debts,  to  a  great 
amount,  and  which  bear  an  interest. 

At  the  end  of  the  war,  the  interest  payable  on  her 
debt  amounted  to  upwards  of  seven  millions  sterling. 
M.  de  la  Verdy,  the  last  hope  of  the  French  finances, 
was  called  in,  to  aid  in  the  reduction  of  an  interest, 
so  light  to  our  author,  so  intolerably  heavy  upon 
those  who  are  to  pay  it.  After  many  unsuccessful 
efforts  towards  reconciling  arbitrary  reduction  with 
public  credit,  he  was  obliged  to  go  the  plain  high 
road  of  power,  and  to  impose  a  tax  of  10  per  cent 
upon  a  very  great  part  of  the  capital  debt  of  that 
kingdom ;  and  this  measure  of  present  ease,  to  the 
destruction  of  future  credit,  produced  about  500,000L 
a  year,  which  was  carried  to  their  Caisse  d^amortisse- 
ment  or  sinking  fund.  But  so  unfaithfully  and  un- 
steadily has  this  and  all  the  other  articles  which 
compose  that  fund  been  applied  to  their  purposes, 
that  they  have  given  the  state  but  very  little  even  of 
present  relief,  since  it  is  known  to  the  whole  world 
that  she  is  behind-hand  on  every  one  of  her  establish- 
ments. Since  the  year  1763,  there  has  been  no  oper- 
ation of  any  consequence  on  the  French  finances ; 
and  in  this  envial)le  condition  is  France  at  present 
with  regard  to  her  debt. 

Everybody  knows  that  the  principal  of  the  debt  h 
but  a  name  ;  the  interest  is  the  only  thing  which  can 
distress  a  nation.     Take  this  idea,  which  will  not  b^ 


330  OBSERVATIONS    ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

disputed,  and  compare  the  interest  paid  by  England 
with  that  paid  by  France  : 

Interest  paid  by  France,  funded  and 
unfunded,  for  perpetuity  or  on  lives, 
after  the  tax  of  10  per  cent      .     .     .  <£  6,500,000 

Interest  paid  by  England,  as  stated  by 

the  author,  p.  27 4,600,000 

Interest  paid   by  France   exceeds  that 

paid  by  England ^1,900,000 

The  author  cannot  complain,  that  I  state  the  inter- 
est paid  by  England  as  too  low.  He  takes  it  himself 
as  the  extremest  term.  Nobody  who  knows  anything 
of  the  French  finances  will  affirm  that  I  state  the  in- 
terest paid  by  that  kingdom  too  high.  It  might  be 
easily  proved  to  amount  to  a  great  deal  more :  even 
this  is  near  two  millions  above  what  is  paid  by 
England. 

There  are  three  standards  to  judge  of  the  good  con- 
dition of  a  nation  with  regard  to  its  finances.  1st, 
The  relief  of  the  people.  2nd,  The  equality  of  suj> 
plies  to  establishments.  8rd,  The  state  of  public 
credit.     Try  France  on  all  these  standards. 

Although  our  author  very  liberally  administers 
relief  to  the  people  of  France,  its  government  has  not 
been  altogether  so  gracious.  Since  the  peace,  she  has 
taken  olT  but  a  single  vin(/tieme,  or  shilling  in  the 
pound,  and  some  small  matter  in  the  cajntation. 
But,  if  the  government  lias  relieved  them  in  one 
point,  it  has  only  burdened  them  the  more  heavily  in 
another.  The  TuiUc*  that  grievous  and  destiuctivo 
imposition,  wbicli  all  their  fiiinncicrs  lament,  without 
being  abb;    to    remove  or  lo   ivjdace,  has  been  aug- 

*  A  tax  nitcd  by  tin;  iiitiMiiluiit  in  cncli  generality,  on  the  presumed 
fortune  of  every  pcraon  below  tlic  degree  of  a  gentleman. 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    331 

ineiited  no  less  than  six  millions  of  livres,  or  270,000 
pounds  English.  A  further  augmentation  of  this  or 
other  duties  is  now  talked  of;  and  it  is  certainly  ne- 
cessary to  their  affairs :  so  exceedingly  remote  from 
either  truth  or  verisimilitude  is  the  author's  amazing 
assertion,  that  the  burdens  of  France  in  the  war  were 
in  a  great  measure  temporary,  and  must  he  greatly 
diminished  by  a  few  years  of  peace. 

In  the  next  place,  if  the  people  of  France  are  not 
lightened  of  taxes,  so  neither  is  the  state  disburdened 
of  charges.  I  speak  from  very  good  information, 
that  the  annual  income  of  that  state  is  at  this  day 
thirty  millions  of  livres,  or  1,350,000?.  sterling,  short 
of  a  provision  for  their  ordinary  peace  establishment ; 
so  far  are  they  from  the  attempt  or  even  hope  to  dis- 
charge any  part  of  the  capital  of  their  enormous  debt. 
Indeed,  under  such  extreme  straitness  and  distrac- 
tion labors  the  whole  body  of  their  finances,  so  far 
does  their  charge  outrun  their  supply  in  every  par- 
ticular, that  no  man,  I  believe,  who  has  considered 
their  affairs  with  any  degree  of  attention  or  informa- 
tion, but  must  hourly  look  for  some  extraordinary 
convulsion  in  that  whole  system  :  the  effect  of  which 
on  France,  and  even  on  all  Europe,  it  is  difficult  to 
conjecture. 

In  the  third  point  of  view,  their  credit.  Let  the 
reader  cast  his  eye  on  a  table  of  the  price  of  French 
funds,  as  they  stood  a  few  weeks  ago,  compared  with 
the  state  of  some  of  our  English  stocks,  even  in  their 
present  low  condition  :  — 

French.  British. 

5  per  cents    ....  63  Bank  stock,  5^  .  159 

4  per  cent  (not  taxed)  57  4  per  cent  cons.  100 

3  per  cent     "       "  49  3  per  cent  cons.  88 


332  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 


This  state  of  the  funds  of  France  and  England  is 
sufficient  to  convince  even  prejudice  and  obstinacy, 
that  if  France  and  England  are  not  in  the  same  con- 
dition (as  the  author  affirms  they  are  not)  the  dif- 
ference is  infinitely  to  the  disadvantage  of  France. 
This  depreciation  of  their  funds  has  not  much  the  air 
of  a  nation  lightening  burdens  and  discharging  debts. 

Such  is  the  true  comparative  state  of  the  two  king- 
doms in  those  capital  points  of  view.  Now  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  taxes  which  provide  for  this  debt,  as 
well  as  for  their  ordinary  establishments,  the  author 
has  thought  proper  to  affirm  that  "  they  are  compara- 
tively light  "  ;  that  "  she  has  mortgaged  no  such  op- 
pressive taxes  as  ours"  ;  his  effi'ontery  on  this  head 
is  intolerable.  Does  the  author  recollect  a  single  tax 
in  England  to  which  something  parallel  in  nature, 
and  as  heavy  in  burden,  does  not  exist  in  France  : 
does  he  not  know  that  the  lands  of  the  noblesse  are  still 
under  the  load  of  the  greater  part  of  the  old  feudal 
charges,  from  which  the  gentry  of  England  have  been 
relieved  for  upwards  of  a  hundred  years,  and  which 
were  in  kind,  as  well  as  burden,  much  Avorse  than 
our  modern  land-tax  ?  Besides  that  all  the  gentry  of 
France  serve  in  the  army  on  very  slender  pay,  and  to 
the  utter  ruin  of  their  fortunes,  all  those  who  are  not 
noble  have  their  lands  heavily  taxed.  Does  he  not 
know  tliat  wine,  brandy,  soap,  candles,  leather,  salt- 
petre, gunpowder,  are  taxed  hi  France  ?  Has  he  not 
heard  that  government  in  France  has  made  a  monop- 
oly of  that  great  article  of  salt?  that  they  compel 
the  peojjle  to  take  a  certain  qnanfity  of  it,  and  at  a 
certain  rate,  both  rate  and  qnantity  fixed  at  the  ar- 
bitrary j)leasure  of  the  imjtoser  ?  *  tliat  tiiey  pay  in 

*  Before  the  war  it  was  sold  to,  or  riiUicr  forced  on,  the  consumer 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    S33 

France  the  Taille,  an  arbitrary  imposition  on  pre- 
snnicd  property  ?  that  a  tax  is  hiid  in  fact  and  name, 
on  tlio  same  arbitrary  standard,  upon  the  acquisitions 
of  their  industry  ?  and  that  in  France  a  heavy  capita- 
tion-tax is  also  paid,  from  the  liighest  to  the  very 
poorest  sort  of  people  ?  Have  we  taxes  of  such 
weight,  or  anything  at  all  of  the  compulsion,  in  the 
article  of  salt  ?  do  we  pay  any  taillage,  any  faculti/- 
toa;,  any  industry-tax?  do  we  pay  any  capitation-tax 
whatsoever  ?  I  believe  the  people  of  London  would 
fall  into  an  agony  to  hear  of  such  taxes  proposed 
upon  them  as  are  paid  at  Paris.  There  is  not  a  sin- 
gle article  of  provision  for  man  or  beast  which  enters 
that  great  city,  and  is  not  excised  ;  corn,  hay,  meal, 
butcher's-meat,  fish,  fowls,  everything.  I  do  not  here 
mean  to  censure  the  policy  of  taxes  laid  on  the  con- 
sumption of  great  luxurious  cities.  I  only  state  the 
fact.  We  should  be  with  difficulty  brought  to  hear 
of  a  tax  of  50s.  upon  every  ox  sold  in  Smithfield. 
Yet  this  tax  is  paid  in  Paris.  Wine,  the  lower  sort 
of  wine,  little  better  than  English  small  beer,  pays 
2d.  a  bottle. 

We,  indeed,  tax  our  beer  ;  but  the  imposition  on 
small  beer  is  very  far  from  heavy.  In  no  part  of 
England  are  eatables  of  any  kind  the  object  of  tax- 
ation. In  almost  every  other  country  in  Europe  they 
are  excised,  more  or  less.  I  have  by  me  the  state  of 
the  revenues  of  many  of  the  principal  nations  on  the 
Continent ;  and,  on  comparing  them  with  ours,  I 
think  I  am  fairly  warranted  to  assert,  that  England 
is  the  most  lightly  taxed  of  any  of  the  great  states 

at  11  sous,  or  about  5(/.  tlie  pound.  What  it  is  at  present,  I  am  not 
informed.  Even  this  will  appear  no  trivial  imposition.  In  London, 
salt  may  be  had  at  a  penny  farthing  per  pound  from  the  last  retailer. 


334  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

of  Europe.  They,  whose  unnatural  and  sullen  joy 
arises  from  a  contemplation  of  the  distresses  of  their 
country,  will  revolt  at  this  position.  But  if  I  am 
called  upon,  I  will  prove  it  beyond  all  possibility  of 
dispute  ;  even  though  this  proof  should  deprive  these 
gentlemen  of  the  singular  satisfaction  of  considering 
their  country  as  undone ;  and  though  the  best  civil 
government,  the  best  constituted,  and  the  best  man- 
aged revenue  that  ever  the  world  beheld,  should  be 
thoroughly  A-indicated  from  their  perpetual  clamors 
and  complaints.  As  to  our  neighbor  and  rival  France, 
in  addition  to  what  I  have  here  suggested,  I  say,  and 
when  the  author  chooses  formally  to  deny,  I  shall 
formally  prove  it,  that  her  subjects  pay  more  than 
England,  on  a  computation  of  the  wealth  of  both 
countries ;  that  her  taxes  are  more  injudiciously  and 
more  oppressively  imposed  ;  more  vexatiously  col- 
lected ;  come  in  a  smaller  proportion  to  the  royal  cof- 
fers, and  are  less  applied  by  far  to  the  public  service. 
I  am  not  one  of  those  who  choose  to  take  the  author's 
word  for  this  happy  and  flourishing  condition  of  the 
French  finances,  rather  tlian  attend  to  the  changes, 
the  violent  pushes  and  the  despair  of  all  her  own  fi- 
nanciers. Does  he  choose  to  be  referred  for  the  easy 
and  happy  condition  of  the  subject  in  France  to  the 
remonstrances  of  their  own  parliaments,  written  with 
such  an  eloquence,  feeling,  and  energy,  as  I  have  not 
seen  exceeded  in  any  otlier  writings  ?  The  author 
may  say,  their  complaints  arc  exaggerated,  and  the 
effects  of  foction.  1  answer,  that  they  arc  the  repre 
sentations  of  numorous,  grave,  and  most  respectable 
bodies  of  ukmi,  upon  the;  alTairs  of  tlicir  own  country. 
But,  allowing  that  discontent  and  faction  may  per- 
vert the  judgment  of  such  venerable  bodies  in  France, 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF   THE  NATION.        335 

we  have  as  good  a  right  to  suppose  that  the  same 
causes  may  full  as  probably  have  produced  from  a 
private,  however  respectable  person,  that  frightful, 
and,  I  trust  I  have  shown,  groundless  representation 
of  our  own  affairs  in  England. 

The  author  is  so  conscious  of  the  dangerous  effects 
of  that  representation,  that  he  thinks  it  necessary, 
and  very  necessary  it  is,  to  guard  against  them.  He 
assures  us,  "  that  he  has  not  made  that  display  of  the 
difficulties  of  his  country,  to  expose  her  counsels  to 
the  ridicule  of  other  states,  or  to  provoke  a  vanqiiished 
enemy  to  insult  her  ;  nor  to  excite  the  people's  rage 
against  their  governors,  or  sink  them  into  a  despond- 
ency of  the  public  welfare."  I  readily  admit  this 
apology  for  his  intentions.  God  forbid  I  should  think 
any  man  capable  of  entertaining  so  execrable  and 
senseless  a  design.  The  true  cause  of  his  drawing  so 
shocking  a  picture  is  no  more  than  this  ;  and  it  ought 
rather  to  claim  our  pity  than  excite  our  indignation  ; 
he  finds  himself  out  of  power ;  and  this  condition  is 
intolerable  to  him.  The  same  sun  which  gilds  all 
nature,  aud  exhilarates  the  whole  creation,  does  not 
shine  upon  disappointed  ambition.  It  is  something 
that  rays  out  of  darkness,  and  inspires  nothing  but 
gloom  and  melancholy.  Men  in  this  deplorable  state 
of  mind  find  a  comfort  in  spreading  the  contagion  of 
their  spleen.  They  find  an  advantage  too  ;  for  it  is  a 
general,  popular  error,  to  imagine  the  loudest  com- 
plainers  for  the  public  to  be  the  most  anxious  for 
its  welfare.  If  such  persons  can  answer  the  ends  of 
relief  and  profit  to  themselves,  they  are  apt  to  be 
careless  enough  about  either  the  means  or  the  conse- 
quences. 

Whatever  this  complainant's  motives  may  be,  the 


3ob"  OBSERVATIONS    ON    a    LATE   PUBLICATION 

effects  can  by  no  possibility  be  other  than  those  which 
he  so  strongly,  and  I  hope  truly,  disclaims  all  inten- 
tion of  producing.  To  verify  this,  the  reader  has 
only  to  consider  how  dreadful  a  picture  he  has  drawn 
in  his  32nd  page,  of  the  state  of  this  kingdom ;  such 
a  picture  as,  I  believe,  has  hardly  been  applicable, 
without  some  exaggeration,  to  the  most  degenerate 
and  undone  commonwealth  that  ever  existed.  Let 
this  view  of  things  be  compared  with  the  prospect  of 
a  remedy  which  he  proposes  in  the  page  directly  oppo- 
site, and  the  subsequent.  I  believe  no  man  living 
could  have  imagined  it  possible,  except  for  the  sake 
of  burlesquing  a  subject,  to  propose  remedies  so  ridic- 
ulously disproportionate  to  the  evil,  so  full  of  uncer- 
tainty in  their  operation,  and  depending  for  their 
success  in  every  step  upon  the  happy  event  of  so 
many  new,  dangerous,  and  visionary  projects.  It  is 
not  amiss,  that  he  has  thought  proper  to  give  the 
public  some  little  notice  of  what  they  may  expect 
from  his  friends,  when  our  affairs  shall  be  committed 
to  their  management.  Let  us  see  how  the  accounts 
of  disease  and  remedy  are  balanced  in  his  "  State  of 
the  Nation."  In  the  first  place,  on  the  side  of  evils, 
he  states,  "  an  impoverished  and  heavily-burdened 
public.  A  declining  trade  and  decreasing  specie. 
The  power  of  the  crown  never  so  much  extended 
over  the  great ;  but  the  great  without  influence  over 
the  lower  sort.  Parliament  losing  its  reverence  with 
the  people.  The  voice  of  the  multitude  set  up  against 
the  sense  of  the  legislature ;  a  i)co])le  luxurious  and 
licentious,  impatient  of  rule,  and  de.s[)ising  all  author- 
ity. Government  nilaxtid  in  every  sinew,  and  a  cor- 
rupt selfish  spirit  i)crviuiing  the  whole.  An  opinion 
of  majiy,  that  tho  form  of  government  is  not  worth 


ON    THE   PKESENT    STATE    OF   THE   NATION.         337 

contending  for.  No  attachment  in  the  bulk  of  the 
peo])le  towards  the  constitution.  No  reverence  for 
the  customs  of  our  ancestors.  No  attachment  but  to 
private  interest,  nor  any  zeal  but  for  selfish  gratifi- 
cations. Trade  and  manufactures  going  to  ruin. 
Great  Britain  in  danger  of  becoming  tributary  to 
France,  and  the  descent  of  the  crown  dependent  on 
her  pleasure.  Ireland,  in  case  of  a  war,  to  become 
a  prey  to  France  ;  and  Great  Britain,  unable  to  re- 
cover Ireland,  cede  it  by  treaty,"  (the  author  never 
can  think  of  a  treaty  without  making  cessions,)  "  in 
order  to  purchase  peace  for  herself.  The  colonies 
left  exposed  to  the  ravages  of  a  domestic,  or  the  con- 
quest of  a  foreign  enemy."  —  Gloomy  enough,  God 
knows.  The  author  well  observes,*  that  a  mind  not 
totally  devoid  of  feeling  cannot  look  upon  such  a  pros- 
pect without  horror  ;  and  an  heart  capable  of  humanity 
must  he  unable  to  hear  its  description.  He  ought  to 
have  added,  that  no  man  of  common  discretion  ought 
to  have  exhibited  it  to  the  public,  if  it  were  true  ;  or 
of  common  honesty,  if  it  were  false. 

But  now  for  the  comfort ;  the  day-star  which  is  to 
arise  in  our  hearts ;  the  author's  grand  scheme  for 
totally  reversing  this  dismal  state  of  things,  and  mak- 
ing us  t  "  happy  at  home  and  respected  abroad,  for- 
midable in  war  and  flourishing  in  peace." 

In  this  great  work  he  proceeds  with  a  facility 
equally  astonishing  and  pleasing.  Never  was  finan- 
cier less  embarrassed  by  the  burden  of  establishments, 
or  with  the  difficulty  of  finding  ways  and  means.  If 
an  establislimcnt  is  troublesome  to  him,  he  lops  off  at 
a  stroke  just  as  much  of  it  as  he  chooses.  He  mows 
down,  without  giving  quarter,  or  assigning  reason, 

*  Page  31.  t  Page  33. 

VOL.  I.  22 


838  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

army,  navy,  ordnance,  ordinary,  extraordinaries ;  noth- 
iner  can  stand  before  him.  Then,  when  he  comes  to 
provide,  Amalthea's  horn  is  in  his  hands ;  and  he 
pours  out  with  an  inexhaustible  bounty,  taxes,  duties, 
loans,  and  revenues,  without  uneasiness  to  himself, 
or  burden  to  the  public.  Insomuch  that,  when  we 
consider  the  abundance  of  his  resources,  we  cannot 
avoid  being  surprised  at  his  extraordinary  attention 
to  savings.  But  it  is  all  the  exuberance  of  his  good- 
ness. 

This  book  has  so  much  of  a  certain  tone  of  power, 
that  one  would  be  almost  tempted  to  think  it  written 
by  some  person  who  had  been  high  in  office.  A  man 
is  generally  rendered  somewhat  a  worse  reasoner  for 
having  been  a  minister.  In  private,  the  assent  of  lis- 
tening and  obsequious  friends ;  in  public,  the  venal 
cry  and  prepared  vote  of  a  passive  senate,  confirm 
him  in  habits  of  begging  the  question  with  impu- 
nity, and  asserting  without  thinking  himself  obliged 
to  prove.  Had  it  not  been  for  some  such  habits,  the 
author  could  never  have  expected  that  wc  should  take 
his  estimate  for  a  peace  establishment  solely  on  his 
word. 

This  estimate  which  he  gives,*  is  the  great  ground- 
work of  his  plan  for  the  national  redemption  ;  and  it 
onght  to  be  well  and  firmly  laid,  or  what  must  be- 
come of  the  superstructure  ?  One  would  have  tho\ighi 
the  natural  method  in  a  jilan  of  reformation  would 
be,  to  take  the  ])rcscnt  existing  estimates  as  tliey 
stand  ;  and  tlien  to  show  what  may  lio  practicably 
and  safely  defalcated  from  thcni.  'I'liis  would,  1  say, 
bo  the  natui'al  course  ;  and  what  would  be  expected 
from  a  man  of  l)usiness.     But  this  author  takes  a 

*  ru>'c  .•J3. 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF   THE   NATION.         339 

very  different  method.  For  the  ground  of  his  specu- 
lation of  a  present  peace  establishment,  he  resorts  to 
a  former  speculation  of  the  same  kind,  which  was  in 
the  mind  of  the  minister  of  the  year  1764.  Indeed  it 
never  existed  anywhere  else.  "  The  plan,"  *  says  he, 
with  his  usual  ease,  "  has  been  already  formed,  and 
the  outline  drawn,  by  the  administration  of  1764.  1 
shall  attempt  to  fill  up  the  void  and  obliterated  parts, 
and  trace  its  operation.  The  standing  expense  of  the 
present  (his  projected)  peace  establishment,  improved 
hy  the  experience  of  the  two  last  years,  may  he  thus  esti- 
mated^^; and  he  estimates  it  at  3,468,161Z. 

Here  too  it  would  be  natural  to  expect  some  rea- 
sons for  condemning  the  subsequent  actual  establish- 
ments, which  have  so  much  transgressed  the  limits 
of  his  plan  of  1764,  as  well  as  some  arguments  in  fa- 
vor of  his  new  project ;  which  has  in  some  articles 
exceeded,  in  others  fallen  short,  but  on  the  whole  is 
much  below  his  old  one.  Hardly  a  word  on  any  of 
these  points,  the  only  points  however  that  are  in  the 
least  essential ;  for  unless  you  assign  reasons  for  the 
increase  or  diminution  of  the  several  articles  of  pub- 
lic charge,  the  playing  at  establishments  and-  esti- 
mates is  an  amusement  of  no  higher  order,  and  of 
much  less  ingenuity,  than  Questions  and  commands, 
or  What  is  my  thought  like  ?  To  bring  more  distinctly 
under  the  reader's  view  this  author's  strange  method  of 
proceeding,  I  will  lay  before  him  the  three  schemes : 
viz.  the  idea  of  the  ministers  in  1764,  the  actual  esti- 
mates of  the  two  last  years  as  given  by  the  author  him- 
self, and  lastly  the  new  project  of  his  political  millen- 
nium :  — 

*  Page  33. 


340  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

Plan  ot  estaljlishment  for  1764,  as  by 

"  Considerations,"  p.  43  ....  *  ^3,609,700 
Medium  of  1767  and  1768,  as  by  "  State 

of  the  Nation,"  p.  29  and  30  .  .  .  3,919,375 
Present  peace  establishment,  as  by  the 

project  in  "  State  of  the  Nation,"  p.  33        3,468,161 

It  is  not  from  anything  our  author  has  anywhere 
said,  that  you  are  enabled  to  find  the  ground,  much 
less  the  justification,  of  the  immense  difference  be- 
tween these  several  systems  ;  you  must  compare  them 
yourself,  article  by  article ;  no  very  pleasing  employ- 
ment, by  the  way,  to  compare  the  agreement  or  disa- 
greement of  two  chimeras.  I  now  only  speak  of  the 
comparison  of  his  own  two  projects.  As  to  the  latter 
of  them,  it  differs  from  the  former,  by  having  some 
of  the  articles  diminished,  and  others  increased. f  I 
find  the  chief  article  of  reduction  arises  from  the 
smaller  deficiency  of  land  and  malt,  and  of  the  annu- 
ity funds,  which  he  brings  down  to  295,561Z.  in  his 
new  estimate,  from  502,400?.  which  he  liad  allowed 
for  those  articles  in  the  "  Considerations."  With 
this  reduction,  owing,  as  it  must  be,  merely  to  a  small- 
er deficiency  of  funds,  he  has  nothing  at  all  to  do. 
It  can  be  no  work  and  no  merit  of  his.  But  with  re- 
gard to  the  inn-eane,  the  matter  is  very  different.  It 
is  all  his  own  ;  the  public  is  loaded  (for  anything  wo 
can  sec  to  the  contrary)  entirely  gratis.  The  chief 
articles  of  the  increase  are  on  the  navy, J  and  on  the 
army  and  ordnance  cxtraordinaries  ;    the  navy  being 

*  The  fif;uiTs  in  the  "Considerations"  arc  wrongly  cast  up;  il 
Bhoulcl  be  3,608.700/. 

t  "  Considerations,"  p.  43.     "  State  of  the  Nation,"  p.  .•);{. 
I  Il.id. 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF  THE  NATION.         341 

estimated  in  his  "  State  of  the  Nation  "  50,000/.  a 
year  more,  and  the  army  and  ordnance  extraordina- 
ries  40,000/.  more,  than  he  had  thought  proper  to  al- 
low for  them  in  that  estimate  in  his  "  Considerations," 
which  he  makes  the  foundation  of  his  present  project. 
He  has  given  no  sort  of  reason,  stated  no  sort  of  ne- 
cessity, for  this  additional  allowance,  either  in  the 
one  article  or  the  other.  What  is  still  stronger,  he 
admits  that  his  allowance  for  the  army  and  ordnance 
extras  is  too  great,  and  expressly  refers  you  to  the 
"  Considerations";*  where,  far  from  giving  75,000/. 
a  year  to  that  service,  as  the  "  State  of  the  Nation" 
has  done,  the  author  apprehends  his  own  scanty  pro- 
vision of  35,000/.  to  be  by  far  too  considerable,  and 
thinks   it   may   well   admit  of  further   reductions.! 

*  Page  34. 

t  The  author  of  the  "  State  of  the  Nation,"  p.  34,  informs  us,  tliat 
the  sum  of  75,000/.  allowed  by  him  for  the  extras  of  the  army  and 
ordnance,  is  far  less  than  was  allowed  for  the  same  service  in  the  years 
1767  and  1768.  It  is  so  undoubtedly,  and  by  at  least  200,000/.  He 
sees  that  he  cannot  abide  by  the  plan  of  the  "  Considerations  "  in  this 
point,  nor  is  he  willing  wiiolly  to  give  it  up.  Sufh  an  enormous 
difference  as  that  between  35,000/.  and  300,000/.  puts  him  to  a  stand. 
Should  he  adopt  the  latter  plan  of  increased  expense,  he  must  then 
confess  that  he  had,  on  a  former  occasion,  egregiously  trifled  with  the 
public;  at  the  same  time  all  his  future  promises  of  reduction  must 
fall  to  the  ground.  If  he  stuck  to  the  35,000/.  he  was  sure  that  every 
one  must  expect  from  him  some  account  how  this  monstrous  charge 
came  to  continue  ever  since  the  war,  when  it  was  clearly  unnecessary ; 
how  all  those  successions  of  ministers  (his  own  included)  came  to  pay 
it,  and  why  his  great  friend  in  Parliament,  and  his  partisans  without 
doors,  came  not  to  pursue  to  ruin,  at  least  to  utfer  shame,  the  authors 
of  so  groundless  and  scandalous  <;  profusion.  In  this  strait  he  took 
a  middle  way ;  and,  to  come  nearer  the  real  state  of  the  service,  he 
outbid  the  "  Considerations,"  at  one  stroke,  40,000/.  ;  at  the  same 
time  he  hints  to  you,  that  you  may  expect  some  benefit  also  from  the 
original  plan.     But  the  author  of  the  "  Considerations  "  will  not  suf- 


342  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

Thus,  according  to  his  own  principles,  this  great 
economist  falls  into  a  vicious  prodigality ;  and  is  as 
far  in  his  estimate  from  a  consistency  with  his  own 
principles  as  with  the  real  nature  of  the  services. 

Still,  however,  his  present  establishment  differs 
from  its  archetype  of  1764,  by  being,  though  raised 
ill  particular  parts,  upon  the  whole,  about  141,000Z. 
smaller.  It  is  improved,  he  tells  us,  by  the  experi- 
ence of  the  two  last  years.  One  would  have  con- 
cluded that  the  peace  establishment  of  these  two 
years  had  been  less  than  that  of  1764,  in  order  to 
suggest  to  the  author  his  improvements,  which  enar 
bled  him  to  reduce  it.     But  how  does  that  turn  out  ? 

Peace  establishment  *  1767  and  1768, 
medium X  3,919,375 

Ditto,  estimate  in  the  "  Considerations," 

for  1764 3,609,700 

Difference     .     .     £  309,675 

A  vast  increase  instead  of  dimiinition.  The  experi- 
ence then  of  the  two  last  years  ought  naturally  to 
have  given  the  idea  of  a  heavier  establishment ;  but 
tliis  writer  is  able  to  diminish  by  increasing,  and  to 
draw  the  effects  of  subtraction  from  the  operations  of 
addition.  By  means  of  these  new  powers,  he  may 
certainly  do  whatever  he  pleases.  He  is  indeed  mod- 
crate  enough  in  the  use  of  them,  and  condescends  to 
settle  his  establishments  at  3,468,161^.  a  year. 

t«T  liiin  to  escape  it.  Ho  lias  pinned  him  down  to  his  S.'i.OOO/. ;  for 
tlint  is  tlic  siini  lie  hft.s  chosen,  not  ns  what  lie  thinks  will  pruhahly 
be  required,  but  ns  mnkinp  the  most  ample  allowance  for  every  possi- 
ble contingency.     Sec  that  antlior,  p.  42  and  43. 

*  lie  has  done  threat  injustice  to  the  cstalilisliinent  of  17G8  ;  but  1 
have  not  here  time  for  this  discussion;  nor  is  it  necessary  to  this  ar- 
gument. 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OP   THE   NATION.         343 

However,  he  has  not  yet  done  with  it ;  he  has  fur- 
ther ideas  of  saving,  and  new  resources  of  revenue. 
These  additional  savings  are  principally  two :  1st,  It 
is  to  he  hoped,^  says  he,  that  the  sum  of  250,000^. 
(which  in  the  estimate  he  allows  for  the  deficiency 
of  land  and  malt)  will  be  less  by  37,924Z.t 

2nd,  Tliat  the  sum  of  20,000/.  allowed  for  the 
Foundling  Hospital,  and  1800?.  for  American  Sur- 
veys, will  soon  cease  to  be  necessary,  as  the  services 
will  be  completed. 

What  follows,  with  regard  to  the  resources,!  is 
very  well  worthy  the  reader's  attention.  "  Of  this 
estimate,"  says  he,  "  upwards  of  oOO,OOOL  will  be  for 
the  plantation  service  ;  and  that  sum,  Ihope^  the  peo- 
ple of  Ireland  and  the  colonies  might  he  induced  to 
take  off  Great  Britain,  and  defray  between  them,  in 
the  proportion  of  200,000?.  by  the  colonies,  and 
100,000?.  by  Ireland." 

Such  is  the  whole  of  this  mighty  scheme.  Take 
his  reduced  estimate,  and  his  further  reductions,  and 
his  resources  all  together,  and  the  result  will  be, — he 

*  Page  34. 

t  In  making  up  this  account,  he  falls  into  a  surprising  error  of 
arithmetic.  "  The  deficiency  of  the  land-tax  in  the  year  1754  and 
1755,*  when  it  was  at  2s.,  amounted  to  no  more,  on  a  medium,  than 
49,372/. ;  to  which,  if  we  add  half  the  sum,  it  will  give  us  79,058/.  as 
the  peace  deficiency  at  3s." 

Total £49,372 

Add  the  half 24,686 

£  74,058 

Which  he  makes  79,058/.     This  is  indeed  in  disfavor  of  his  argument ; 
but  we  shall  see  that  he  has  ways,   by  other  errors,  of  reimbursing 
himself. 
J  Page  34. 

*  Page  33. 


344  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

will  certainly  lower  the  provision  made  for  the  navy. 
He  will  cut  oflf  largely  (God  knows  what  or  how) 
from  the  army  and  ordnance  extraordinaries.  He 
may  be  expected  to  cut  off  more.  He  hopes  that  the 
deficiencies  on  land  and  malt  will  be  less  than  usual ; 
and  he  hopes  that  America  and  Ireland  might  be  ivr 
diiced  to  take  off  300,000L  of  our  annual  charges. 

If  any  of  these  Hopes,  Mights,  Insinuations,  Expec- 
tations, and  Inducements,  should  fail  him,  there  will 
be  a  formidable  gaping  breach  in  his  whole  project. 
If  all  of  them  should  fail,  he  has  left  the  nation  with- 
out a  glimmering  of  hope  in  this  thick  night  of  terrors 
which  he  has  thought  fit  to  spread  about  us.  If 
every  one  of  them,  which,  attended  with  success, 
would  signify  anything  to  our  revenue,  can  have  no 
effect  but  to  add  to  our  distractions  and  dangers,  we 
shall  be  if  possible  in  a  still  worse  condition  from  his 
projects  of  cure,  than  he  represents  us  from  our  origi- 
nal disorders. 

Before  we  examine  into  the  consequences  of  these 
schemes,  and  the  probability  of  these  savings,  let  us 
suppose  them  all  real  and  all  safe,  and  then  see  what 
it  is  they  amount  to,. and  how  he  reasons  on  them :  — 

Deficiency  on  land  and  malt,  less  by  .    <£  37,000 

Foundling  Hospital 20,000 

American  Surveys 1,800 

£  58,800 

Tills  is  the  amount  of  the  only  articles  of  saving  ho 
specifies :  and  yet  he  chooses  to  assert,*  "  that  we 
may  venture  on  the  credit  of  them  to  reduce  tlio 
standing  expenses  of  1b(!  estimate  (from  3,4()8,101Z.) 
to  :},:500,000/.  "  ;  that  is,  for  a  saving  of  .'J8,000^.  lio 

*  Page  43 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF   THE   NATION.         345 

is  not  ashamed  to  take  credit  for  a  defalcation  from 
his  own  ideal  establishment  in  a  sum  of  no  less  than 
168,161Z. !  Suppose  even  that  we  were  to  take  up 
the  estimate  of  the  "  Considerations  "  (which  is  how- 
ever abandoned  in  the  "  State  of  the  Nation"),  and 
reduce  his  75,000Z.  extraordinaries  to  the  original 
35,000^.,  still  all  these  savings  joined  together  give 
us  but  98,800^. ;  that  is,  near  70,000Z.  short  of  the 
credit  he  calls  for,  and  for  which  he  has  neither  given 
any  reason,  nor  furnished  any  data  whatsoever  for 
others  to  reason  upon. 

Such  are  his  savings,  as  operating  on  his  own  pro- 
ject of  a  peace  establishment.  Let  us  now  consider 
them  as  they  affect  the  existing  establishment  and 
our  actual  services.  He  tells  us,  the  sum  allowed  in 
his  estimate  for  the  navy  is  "  69,321?.  less  than  the 
grant  for  that  service  in  1767  ;  but  in  that  grant 
30,000?.  was  included  for  the  purchase  of  hemp,  and 
a  saving  of  about  25,000Z.  was  made  in  that  year.'' 
The  author  has  got  some  secret  in  arithmetic.  These 
two  sums  put  together  amount,  in  the  ordinary  way 
of  computing,  to  55,000?.,  and  not  to  69,321?.  On 
what  principle  has  he  chosen  to  take  credit  for 
14,321?.  more  ?  To  what  this  strange  inaccuracy 
is  owing,  I  cannot  possibly  comprehend  ;  nor  is  it 
very  material,  where  the  logic  is  so  bad,  and  the 
{)olicy  so  erroneous,  whether  the  arithmetic  be  just  or 
otherwise.  But  in  a  scheme  for  making  this  nation 
"  happy  at  home  and  respected  abroad,  formidable  in 
war  and  flourishing  in  peace,"  it  is  surely  a  little  un- 
fortunate for  us,  that  he  has  picked  out  the  Navy,  as 
the  very  first  object  of  his  economical  experiments. 
Of  all  the  public  services,  that  of  the  navy  is  the  one 
in  which  tampering  may  be  of  the  greatest  danger, 


34G  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

which  can  worst  be  supplied  upon  an  emergency,  and 
of  which  any  failure  draws  after  it  the  longest  and 
heaviest  train  of  consequences.  I  am  far  from  say- 
ing, that  this  or  any  service  ought  not  to  be  con- 
ducted with  economy.  But  I  will  never  suffer  the 
sacred  name  of  economy  to  be  bestowed  upon  arbitra- 
ry defalcation  of  charge.  The  author  tells  us  him- 
self, "  that  to  suffer  the  navy  to  rot  in  harbor  for 
want  of  repairs  and  marines,  would  be  to  invite  de- 
struction." It  would  be  so.  When  the  author  talks 
therefore  of  savings  on  the  navy  estimate,  it  is  incum- 
bent on  him  to  let  us  know,  not  what  sums  he  will 
cut  off,  but  what  branch  of  that  service  he  deems  su- 
perfluous. Instead  of  putting  us  off  with  unmeaning 
generalities,  he  ought  to  have  stated  what  naval  force, 
what  naval  works,  and  what  naval  stores,  with  the 
lowest  estimated  expense,  are  necessary  to  keep  our 
marine  in  a  condition  commensurate  to  its  great 
ends.  And  this  too  not  for  the  contracted  and  deceit- 
ful space  of  a  single  year,  but  for  some  reasonable 
term.  Everybody  knows  that  many  charges  cannot 
be  in  their  nature  regular  or  annual.  In  the  year 
1767  a  stock  of  hemp,  &c.,  was  to  be  laid  in;  that 
charge  intermits,  but  it  docs  not  end.  Other  charges 
of  other  kinds  take  their  place.  Great  works  are  now 
carrying  on  at  Portsmouth,  but  not  of  greater  magni- 
tude than  utility  ;  and  they  must  be  provided  for. 
A  year's  estimate  is  therefore  no  just  idea  at  all  of  a 
permanent  peace  cstal)li.shment.  Had  I  he  author 
opened  tiiis  matter  uj)on  (liese  plain  |)rinciples,  a 
judgment  might  have  been  formed,  how  far  lie  liad 
contrived  to  reconcilo  national  defence  wilh  |iiil>lic 
economy.  'I'ill  be  lias  done  it,  those  who  had  rather 
di'piMid  on  any  niaiTs  reason  than  tlie  greatest  nian't; 


ON   TUE   PRESENT   STATE   OP   THE   NATION.         347 

authority,  will  not  g-rve  him  credit  on  this  head,  for 
tlie  saving  of  a  single  shilling.  As  to  those  savings 
which  are  already  made,  or  in  course  of  being  made, 
whether  right  or  wrong,  he  has  nothing  at  all  to  do 
with  them ;  they  can  be  no  part  of  his  project,  consid- 
ered as  a  plan  of  reformation.  I  greatly  fear  that  the 
error  has  not  lately  been  on  the  side  of  profusion. 

Another  head  is  the  saving  on  the  army  and  ord- 
nance extraordinaries,  particularly  in  the  American 
branch.  What  or  how  much  reduction  may  be  made, 
none  of  us,  I  believe,  can  with  any  fairness  pretend 
to  say ;  very  little,  I  am  convinced.  The  state  of 
America  is  extremely  unsettled  ;  more  troops  have 
been  sent  thither  ;  new  dispositions  have  been  made  ; 
and  this  augmentation  of  number,  and  change  of  dis- 
position, has  rarely,  I  believe,  the  effect  of  lessening 
the  bill  for  extraordmaries,  which,  if  not  this  year, 
yet  in  the  next  we  must  certainly  feel.  Care  has  not 
been  wanting  to  introduce  economy  into  that  part  of 
the  service.  The  author's  great  friend  has  made,  I 
admit,  some  regulations  :  his  immediate  successors 
have  made  more  and  better.  This  part  will  be  han- 
dled more  ably  and  more  minutely  at  another  time : 
but  no  one  can  cut  down  this  bill  of  extraordinaries 
at  his  pleasure.  The  author  has  given  us  nothing, 
but  his  word,  for  any  certain  or  considerable  reduc- 
tion ;  and  this  we  ought  to  be  the  more  cautious  in 
taking,  as  he  has  promised  great  savings  in  his  "  Con- 
siderations," which  he  has  not  chosen  to  abide  by  in 
his  "  State  of  the  Nation." 

On  this  head  also  of  the  American  extraordinaries, 
he  can  take  credit  for  nothing.  As  to  his  next,  the 
lessening  of  the  deficiency  of  the  land  and  malt-tax, 
particularly  of  the   malt-tax,   any  person  the  least 


348  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

conversant  in  that  subject  cannot  avoid  a  smile. 
This  deficiency  arises  from  charge  of  collection,  from 
anticipation,  and  from  defective  produce.  What  has 
the  author  said  on  the  reduction  of  any  head  of  this 
deficiency  upon  the  land-tax  ?  On  these  points  he  is 
absolutely  silent.  As  to  the  deficiency  on  the  malt- 
tax,  which  is  chiefly  owing  to  a  defective  produce,  he 
has  and  can  have  nothing  to  propose.  If  this  defi- 
ciency should  be  lessened  by  the  increase  of  malting 
in  any  years  more  than  in  others,  (as  it  is  a  greatly 
fluctuating  object,  )  how  much  of  this  obligation  shall 
we  owe  to  this  author's  ministry  ?  will  it  not  be  the 
case  under  any  administration  ?  must  it  not  go  to 
the  general  service  of  the  year,  in  some  way  or  other, 
let  the  finances  be  in  whose  hands  they  will?  But. 
why  take  credit  for  so  extremely  reduced  a  deficiency 
at  all  ?  I  can  tell  him  he  has  no  rational  ground  for 
it  in  the  produce  of  the  year  1767 ;  and  I  suspect  will 
have  full  as  little  reason  from  the  produce  of  the  year 
1768.  That  produce  may  indeed  become  greater, 
and  the  deficiency  of  course  will  be  less.  It  may  too 
be  far  otherwise.  A  fair  and  judicious  financier  will 
not,  as  this  writer  has  done,  for  the  sake  of  making 
out  a  specious  account,  select  a  favorable  year  or  two, 
at  remote  periods,  and  ground  his  calculations  on 
those.  In  1768  he  will  not  take  the  deficiencies  of 
1753  and  1754  for  his  standard.  Sober  men  have 
hitherto  (and  must  continue  tliis  course,  to  preserve 
tbis  character,)  takru  iudirHu'cntly  the  mediums  of 
the  years  immediately  preceding.  But  a  jjcrson  who 
lias  a  scheme  from  which  bo  jiromiscs  fnucli  to  tbe 
public  ongbt  to  be  still  more  cauti(Mis  ;  he  sbould 
groiuid  liis  speculation  riiUier  on  tbe  lowest  medi- 
ums ;  l)ecause  all  new  schemes  arc  known  to  be  sub- 


ON   THE   PRESENT    STATE    OF   THE    NATION.  349 

ject  to  some  defect  or  failure  not  forescou  ;  and  wliicfli 
therefore  every  prudent  pi'oposer  will  be  ready  to  al- 
low for,  in  order  to  lay  his  foundation  as  low  and  as 
solid  as  possible.  Quito  contrary  is  the  practice  of 
some  politicians.  They  first  propose  savings,  which 
they  well  know  cannot  be  made,  in  order  to  get  a 
reputation  for  economy.  In  due  time  they  assume 
another,  but  a  different  method,  by  providing  for  the 
service  they  had  before  cut  off  or  straitened,  and 
which  they  can  then  very  easily  prove  to  be  neces- 
sary. In  the  same  spirit  they  raise  magnificent  ideas 
of  revenue  on  funds  which  they  know  to  be  insuffi- 
cient. Afterwards,  who  can  blame  them,  if  they  do 
not  satisfy  the  public  desires  ?  They  are  great  artifi- 
cers ;  but  they  cannot  work  without  materials. 

These  are  some  of  the  little  arts  of  great  statesmen. 
To  such  we  leave  them,  and  follow  where  the  author 
leads  us,  to  his  next  resource,  the  Foundling  Hospi- 
tal. Whatever  particular  virtue  there  is  in  the  mode 
of  this  saving,  there  seems  to  be  nothing  at  all  new, 
and  indeed  nothing  wonderfully  important  in  it.  The 
sum  annually  voted  for  the  support  of  the  Found- 
ling Hospital  has  been  in  a  former  Parliament  lim- 
ited to  the  establishment  of  the  children  then  in 
the  hospital.  When  they  are  apprenticed,  this  pro- 
vision will  cease.  It  will  therefore  fall  in  more 
or  less  at  different  times;  and  will  at  length  cease 
entirely.  But,  until  it  does,  we  cannot  reckon  upon  it 
as  the  saving  on  the  establishment  of  any  given  year  : 
nor  can  any  one  conceive  how  the  author  comes  to 
mention  this,  any  more  than  some  other  articles,  as 
a  part  of  a  7mv  plan  of  economy  which  is  to  retrieve 
our  affairs.  This  charge  will  indeed  cease  in  its 
own  time.     But  will  no  other  succeed  to  it?     Has 


850         OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE  PUBLICATION 

he  ever  known  the  public  free  from  some  contin- 
gent charge,  either  for  the  just  support  of  royaJ 
dignity  or  for  national  magnificence,  or  for  public 
charity,  or  for  public  service  ?  does  he  choose  to  flat- 
ter his  readers  that  no  such  will  ever  return  ?  or 
does  he  in  good  earnest  declare,  that  let  the  reason, 
or  necessity,  be  what  they  will,  he  is  resolved  not  to 
provide  for  such  services  ? 

Another  resource  of  economy  yet  remains,  for  he 
gleans  the  field  very  closely,  —  1800Z.  for  the  Amer- 
ican surveys.  Why,  what  signifies  a  dispute  about 
trifles  ?  he  shall  have  it.  But  while  he  is  carrying  it 
off",  I  shall  just  whisper  in  his  ear,  tliat  neither  the 
saving  that  is  allowed,  nor  that  which  is  doubted  of, 
can  at  all  belong  to  tliat  future  proposed  administra- 
tion, whose  touch  is  to  cure  all  our  evils.  Both  the 
one  and  the  other  belong  equally  (as  indeed  all  the 
rest  do)  to  the  present  administration,  to  any  admin- 
istration ;  because  they  are  the  gift  of  time,  and  not 
the  bounty  of  the  exchequer. 

I  liave  now  done  with  all  the  minor,  preparatory 
parts  of  the  author's  scheme,  the  several  articles  of 
saving  which  he  proposes.  At  length  comes  the  cap- 
ital operation,  his  new  resources.  Three  hundred 
thousand  pounds  a  year  from  America  and  Ireland, 
—  Alas !  alas !  if  that  too  should  fail  us,  what  will 
become  of  this  poor  undone  nation  ?  The  author,  in 
a  tone  of  great  humility,  hopes  they  may  be  induced 
to  pay  it.  Well,  if  tliat  be  all,  we  may  hope  so  too  : 
and  for  any  light  he  is  pleased  to  give  us  into  the 
ground  of  this  hope,  and  the  ways  and  means  of  this 
inducement,  here  is  a  speedy  end  both  of  the  ques- 
tion ill  1(1  the  revenue. 

It  is  the  constant  custom  of  this  author,  in  all  hia 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    "51 

writings,  to  take  it  for  granted,  that  he  has  given  you 
a  revenue,  wlienever  he  can  point  out  to  you  where 
you  may  have  money,  if  you  can  contrive  how  to  get 
at  it ;  and  this  seems  to  be  the  masterpiece  of  his 
financial  ability.  I  think,  however,  in  his  way  of  pro- 
ceeding, he  has  behaved  rather  like  a  harsh  step- 
dame,  than  a  kind  nursing-motlier  to  his  country. 
Why  stop  at  300,000^.  ?  If  his  state  of  things  be  at 
all  founded,  America  and  Ireland  are  much  better 
able  to  pay  600,000Z.  than  we  are  to  satisfy  ourselves 
with  half  that  sum.  However,  let  us  forgive  him  this 
one  instance  of  tenderness  towards  Ireland  and  the 
colonies. 

He  spends  a  vast  deal  of  time  *  in  an  endeavor  to 
prove  that  Ireland  is  able  to  bear  greater  impositions. 
He  is  of  opinion,  that  the  poverty  of  the  lower  class 
of  people  there  is,  in  a  great  measure,  owing  to  a 
want  of  judicious  taxes ;  that  a  land-tax  will  enrich 
her  tenants  ;  that  taxes  are  paid  in  England  which 
are  not  paid  there  ;  that  the  colony  trade  is  increased 
above  100,000/.  since  the  peace;  that  she  ought  to 
have  further  indulgence  in  that  trade ;  and  ought  to 
have  further  privileges  in  the  woollen  manufacture. 
From  these  premises,  of  what  she  has,  what  she  has 
not,  and  what  she  ought  to  have,  he  infers  that  Ire- 
land will  contribute  100,000Z.  towards  the  extraordi- 
naries  of  the  American  establishment. 

I  shall  make  no  objections  whatsoever,  logical  or 
financial,  to  this  reasoning :  many  occur ;  but  they 
would  lead  me  from  my  purpose,  from  which  I  do 
not  intend  to  be  diverted,  because  it  seems  to  me  of 
no  small  importance.  It  will  be  just  enough  to  hint, 
what  I  dare  say  many  readers  have  before  observed, 

*  Page  35. 


852  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

that  when  any  man  proposes  new  taxes  in  a  country 
with  which  he  is  not  personally  conversant  by  res- 
idence or  office,  he  ought  to  lay  open  its  situation 
much  more  minutely  and  critically  than  this  author 
has  done,  or  than  perhaps  he  is  able  to  do.  He 
ought  not  to  content  himself  with  saying  that  a  single 
article  of  her  trade  is  increased  100,000^.  a  year ; 
he  ought,  if  he  argues  from  the  increase  of  trade 
to  the  increase  of  taxes,  to  state  the  whole  trade, 
and  not  one  branch  of  trade  only  ;  he  ought  to 
enter  fully  into  the  state  of  its  remittances,  and  the 
course  of  its  exchange ;  he  ought  likewise  to  exam- 
ine whether  all  its  establishments  are  increased  or 
diminished  ;  and  whether  it  incurs  or  discharges  debts 
annually.  But  I  pass  over  all  this  ;  and  am  content 
to  ask  a  few  plain  questions. 

Docs  the  author  then  seriously  mean  to  propose  in 
Parliament  a  land-tax,  or  any  tax  for  100,000/.  a  year 
upon  Ireland  ?  If  he  does,  and  if  fatally,  by  his  te- 
merity and  our  weakness,  he  should  succeed ;  then  I 
say  he  will  throw  the  whole  empire  from  one  end  of 
it  to  the  other  into  mortal  convulsions.  What  is  it 
tliat  can  satisfy  the  furious  and  perturbed  mind  of 
this  man  ?  is  it  not  enough  for  him  that  such  projects 
have  alienated  our  colonies  from  the  mother-coiuitry, 
and  not  to  propose  violently  to  tear  our  sister-king 
dom  also  from  our  side,  and  to  convince  every  de- 
pendent part  of  the  empire,  that,  when  a  little  money 
is  to  l)e  raised,  we  have  no  sort  of  regard  to  tlicir  an- 
cient customs,  their  opinions,  their  circumstances,  or 
their  alfections  ?  He  has  however  a  douceur  for  Ire- 
land in  his  pocket;  benefits  in  trade,  by  opening  the 
woollen  manufacture  to  that  nation.  A  very  right 
idea  in  n)y  opinion  ;  Imt  not  more  strong  in  reason, 


ON   THE   PRESENT    STATE    OP   THE   NATION.         353 

than  likely  to  be  opposed  by  the  most  powerful  and 
most  violent  of  all  local  prejudices  and  popular  pas- 
sions. First,  a  fire  is  already  kindled  by  his  schemes 
of  taxation  in  America  ;  lie  then  proposes  one  which 
will  set  all  Ireland  in  a  blaze  ;  and  his  way  of  quench- 
ing both  is  by  a  plan  which  may  kindle  perhaps  ten 
times  a  greater  flame  in  Britain. 

Will  the  author  pledge  himself,  previously  to  his 
proposal  of  such  a  tax,  to  carry  this  enlargement  of 
the  Irish  trade  ?  If  he  does  not,  then  the  tax  will  be 
certain ;  tlie  benefit  will  be  less  than  problematical. 
In  this  view,  his  compensation  to  Ireland  vanishes 
into  smoke ;  the  tax,  to  their  prejudices,  will  appear 
stark  naked  in  the  light  of  an  act  of  arbitrary  power 
and  oppression.  But,  if  he  should  propose  the  bene- 
fit and  tax  together,  then  the  people  of  Ireland,  a  very 
high  and  spirited  people,  would  think  it  the  worst 
bargain  in  the  world.  Tliey  would  look  upon  the 
one  as  wholly  vitiated  and  poisoned  by  the  other ; 
and^  if  they  could  not  be  separated,  would  infallibly 
resist  them  both  together.  Here  would  be  taxes,  in- 
deed, amounting  to  a  handsome  sum  ;  100,000Z.  veiy 
effectually  voted,  and  passed  through  the  best  and 
most  authentic  forms ;  but  how  to  be  collected  ?  — 
This  is  his  perpetual  manner.  One  of  his  projects 
depends  for  success  upon  another  project,  and  this 
upon  a  third,  all  of  them  equally  visionary.  His  fi- 
nance is  like  the  Indian  pliilosophy  ;  his  earth  is 
poised  on  the  horns  of  a  bull,  his  bull  stands  upon 
an  elephant,  his  elephant  is  supported  by  a  tortoise ; 
and  so  on  forever. 

As  to  his  American  200,000L  a  year,  he  is  satisfied 
to  repeat  gravely,  as  he  lias  done  an  hundred  times 
before,  that  the  Americans  are  able  to  pay  it.     Well, 

VOL   1.  23 


354  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

and  what  then  ?  does  he  lay  open  any  part  of  his  plan 
how  they  may  be  compelled  to  pay  it,  without  plung- 
ing ourselves  into  calamities  that  outweigh  tenfold 
the  proposed  benefit  ?  or  does  he  show  how  they  may 
be  induced  to  submit  to  it  quietly  ?  or  does  he  give 
any  satisfaction  concerning  the  mode  of  levying  it ; 
in  commercial  colonies,  one  of  the  most  important 
and  difficult  of  all  considerations?  Nothing  like  it. 
To  the  Stamp  Act,  whatever  its  excellences  may  be, 
I  think  he  will  not  in  reality  recur,  or  even  choose 
to  assert  that  he  means  to  do  so,  in  case  his  minister 
should  come  again  into  power.  If  he  does,  I  will  pre- 
dict that  some  of  the  fastest  friends  of  that  minister 
will  desert  him  upon  this  point.  As  to  port  duties 
he  has  damned  them  all  in  the  lump,  by  declaring 
them  *  "  contrary  to  the  first  principles  of  coloniza- 
tion, and  not  less  prejudicial  to  the  interests  of  Great 
Britain  than  to  those  of  the  colonies."  Surely  this 
single  observation  of  his  ought  to  have  taught  liim  a 
little  caution ;  he  ought  to  have  begun  to  doulit, 
whether  there  is  not  something  in  the  nature  of  com- 
mercial colonies,  which  renders  them  an  unfit  object 
of  taxation  ;  when  port  duties,  so  large  a  fund  of  rev- 
enue in  all  countries,  are  by  himself  found,  in  this 
case,  not  only  imjiropor,  but  destructive.  However, 
he  has  here  pretty  well  narrowed  the  field  of  taxation. 
Stamp  Act,  hardly  to  be  resumed.  Port  duties,  mis- 
chievous. Excises,  I  believe,  he  will  scarcely  think 
worth  the  collection  (if  any  revenue  should  be  so)  in 
America.  Land-tax  (notwitlistanding  his  opinion  of 
its  immense  use  to  agriculture)  he  will  not  tlirectly 
propose,  l)eforc  he  lias  tliought  again  and  again  on  the 
Bul)ject.     Indeed  he  very  readily  recommends  it  Ww 

•  Page  37. 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF  THE  NATION.         35/^ 

Ireland,  and  seems  to  think  it  not  improper  for  Amer- 
ica ;  because,  lie  o1)serves,  they  ah'eadj  raise  most  of 
their  taxes  internally,  including  this  tax.     A  most 
curious  reason,  truly  !  because  their  lands  are  already 
heavily  burdened,  he  thinks  it  right  to  burden  them 
still  further.     But  he  will  recollect,  for  surely  he  can- 
not be  ignorant  of  it,  that  the  lands  of  America  are 
not,  as  in  England,  let  at  a  rent  certain  in  money,  and 
therefore  cannot,  as  here,  be  taxed  at  a  certain  pound 
rate.     They  value  them  in  gross  among  themselves  ; 
and  none  but  themselves  in  their  several  districts  can 
value  them.     Without  their  hearty  concurrence  and 
co-operation,  it  is  evident,  we  cannot  advance  a  step 
in  the  assessing  or  collecting  any  land-tax.     As  to  the 
taxes  which  in  some  places  the  Americans  pay  by  the 
acre,  they  are  merely  duties  of  regulation  ;  they  are 
small ;   and  to  increase  them,  notwithstanding  the 
secret  virtues  of  a  land-tax,  would  be  the  most  effect- 
ual means  of  preventing  that  cultivation  they   are 
intended  to  promote.     Besides,  the  whole  country  is 
heavily  in  arrear  already  for  land-taxes  and  quit- 
rents.     They  have  diiferent  methods  of  taxation  in 
the  different  provinces,  agreeable   to   their  several 
local  circumstances.     In  New  England  by  far  the 
greatest  part  of  their  revenue  is  raised  by  faculty- 
taxes  and  capitations.     Such  is  the  method  in  many 
others.     It  is  obvious  that  Parliament,  unassisted  by 
the  colonies  themselves,  cannot  take  so  much  as  a 
single  step  in  this  mode  of  taxation.     Then  what  tax 
is  it  he  will  impose  ?     Why,  after  all  the  boasting 
speeches  and  writings  of  his  faction  for  these  four 
years,  after  all  the  vain  expectations  which  they  have 
held  out  to  a  deluded  public,  this  their  great  advo- 
cate, after  twisting  the  subject  every  way,  after  writh- 


35(5  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A   LATE   PCTBLICATION 

ing  himself  in  every  posture,  after  knocking  at  every 
door,  is  obliged  fairly  to  abandon  every  mode  of  tax- 
ation whatsoever  in  America.*  He  thinks  it  the  best 
method  for  Parliament  to  impose  the  sum,  and  reserve 
the  account  to  itself,  leaving  the  mode  of  taxation  to 
the  colonies.  But  how  and  in  what  proportion  ?  what 
does  the  author  say  ?  0,  not  a  single  syllable  on  this 
the  most  material  part  of  the  whole  question  !  Will 
he,  in  Parliament,  undertake  to  settle  the  proportions 
of  such  payments  from  Nova  Scotia  to  Nevis,  in  no 
fewer  than  six-and-twenty  different  countries,  varying 
in  almost  every  possible  circtimstance  one  from  an- 
other ?  If  he  does,  I  tell  liim,  he  adjourns  his  reve- 
nue to  a  very  long  day.  If  he  leaves  it  to  themselves 
to  settle  these  proportions,  he  adjourns  it  to  doomsday. 
Then  what  does  he  get  by  this  method  on  the  side 
of  acquiescence  ?  will  the  people  of  America  rclisli 
this  course,  of  giving  and  granting  and  applying  their 
money,  the  better  because  their  assemblies  are  made 
commissioners  of  the  taxes  ?  This  is  far  worse  than 
all  bis  former  projects  ;  for  here,  if  the  assemblies 
shall  refuse,  or  delay,  or  be  negligent,  or  fraudulent, 
in  this  new-imposed  duty,  we  are  wholly  witbout  rem- 
edy ;  and  neither  our  custom-house  officers,  nor  our 
troops,  nor  our  armed  ships  can  be  of  the  least  use 
in  the  collection.  No  idea  can  be  more  contemptible 
(I  will  not  call  it  an  oppressive  one,  the  harshness  is 
lost  ill  tlie  fully)  than  (bat  of  proposing  to  got  any 
revenue  from  tbe  Americans  but  by  their  freest  and 
most  checrfnl  consent.  Most  moneyed  men  know  their 
own  interest  right  well  ;  and  are  as  able  as  any  finan- 
cier, in  the  valnatioii  of  risks.  Yet  I  think  this  finan- 
cier will  scarcely  find  Lliat  adventurer  hardy  enough, 

•  Pugcs  37,  38. 


ON   THE   PRESENT    STATE    OF   THE    NATION.         357 

at  any  premium,  to  advance  a  shilling  upon  a  vote  of 
siicli  taxes.  Let  him  name  the  man,  or  set  of  men, 
that  would  do  it.  Tliis  is  the  only  proof  of  the  value 
of  revenues  ;  what  would  an  interested  man  rate  them 
at  ?  His  subscription  would  be  at  ninety-nine  per 
cent  discount  the  very  first  day  of  its  opening.  Here 
is  our  only  national  security  from  ruin  ;  a  security 
upon  which  no  man  in  his  senses  would  venture  a 
shilling  of  his  fortune.  Yet  he  puts  down  those  arti- 
cles as  gravely  in  his  supply  for  the  peace  establish- 
ment, as  if  the  money  had  been  all  fairly  lodged  in 
the  exchequer. 

American  revenue     ....£>  200,000 
Ireland 100,000 

Very  handsome  indeed  !  But  if  supply  is  to  be  got 
in  such  a  manner,  farewell  the  lucrative  mystery  of 
finance  !  If  you  are  to  be  credited  for  savings,  with- 
out showing  how,  why,  or  with  what  safety,  they  are 
to  be  made  ;  and  for  revenues,  without  specifying  on 
what  articles,  or  by  what  means,  or  at  what  expense, 
they  are  to  be  collected  ;  there  is  not  a  clerk  in  a  pub- 
lic office  who  may  not  outbid  this  author,  or  his  friend, 
for  the  department  of  chancellor  of  the  exchequer; 
not  an  apprentice  in  the  city,  that  will  not  strike  out, 
with  the  same  advantages,  the  same,  or  a  much  larger 
plan  of  supply. 

Here  is  the  whole  of  what  belongs  to  the  author's 
scheme  for  saving  us  from  impendhig  destruction. 
Take  it  even  in  its  most  favorable  point  of  view,  as  a 
thing  within  possibility  ;  and  imagine  what  must  be 
the  wisdom  of  tliis  gentleman,  or  his  opinion  of  ours, 
who  could  first  think  of  representing  this  nation  in 
such  a  state,  as  no  friend  can  look  upon  but  with  hor 


858  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

ror,  and  scarcely  an  enemy  without  compassion,  and 
afterwards  of  diverting  himself  with  such  inadequate, 
impracticable,  puerile  methods  for  our  relief !  If 
these  had  been  the  dreams  of  some  unknown,  un- 
named, and  nameless  writer,  they  would  excite  no 
alarm ;  their  weakness  had  been  an  antidote  to  their 
malignity.  But  as  they  are  universally  believed  to  be 
written  by  the  hand,  or,  what  amounts  to  the  same 
thing,  under  the  immediate  direction,  of  a  person 
who  has  been  in  the  management  of  the  highest  af- 
fairs, and  may  soon  be  in  the  same  situation,  I  think 
it  is  not  to  be  reckoned  amongst  our  greatest  consola- 
tions, that  the  yet  remaining  power  of  this  kingdom 
is  to  be  employed  in  an  attempt  to  realize  notions 
that  are  at  once  so  frivolous,  and  so  full  of  danger. 
That  consideration  will  justify  me  in  dwelling  a  little 
longer  on  the  difficulties  of  the  nation,  and  the  solu- 
tions of  our  author. 

I  am  then  persuaded  that  he  cannot  be  in  the  least 
alarmed  about  our  situation,  let  his  outcry  be  what 
he  pleases.  I  will  give  him  a  reason  for  my  opinion, 
which,  I  think,  he  cannot  dispute.  All  that  he  be- 
stows upon  the  nation,  which  it  does  not  possess  with- 
out him,  and  supposing  it  all  sure  money,  amounts  to 
no  more  than  a  sum  of  300,000/.  a  year.  This,  he 
thinks,  will  do  the  business  completely,  and  render  us 
flourishing  at  home,  and  respectable  abroad.  If  the 
option  between  glory  and  shame,  if  our  salvation  or 
destruction,  depended  on  this  sum,  it  is  impossible 
tliat  he  should  have  been  active,  and  made  a  merit  of 
that  activity,  in  taking  off  a  shilling  in  the  iionnd  of 
the  land-tux,  wln'ch  came  up  to  liis  grand  desidera- 
tum, and  u|)\vards  of  100,000/.  moi'o.  By  this  ma- 
noeuvre, he  left  our  trade,  navigation,  and  manufac- 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF  THE  NATION.         359 

tiires,  on  the  verge  of  destruction,  our  finances  in 
ruin,  our  credit  expiring,  Ireland  on  the  point  of  be- 
ing ceded  to  France,  the  colonies  of  being  torn  to 
pieces,  the  succession  of  the  crown  at  the  mercy  of 
our  great  rival,  and  tlie  kingdom  itself  on  the  very 
point  of  becoming  tributary  to  that  haughty  power. 
All  this  for  want  of  300,000L;  for  I  defy  the  reader  to 
point  out  any  other  revenue,  or  any  other  precise  and 
defined  scheme  of  politics,  which  he  assigns  for  our 
redemption. 

I  know  that  two  things  may  be  said  in  his  defence, 
as  bad  reasons  are  always  at  hand  in  an  indifferent 
cause  ;  that  he  was  not  sure  the  money  would  be  ap- 
plied as  he  thinks  it  ought  to  be,  by  the  present  min- 
isters. I  tliink  as  ill  of  them  as  he  does  to  the  full. 
They  have  done  very  near  as  much  mischief  as  they 
can  do,  to  a  constitution  so  robust  as  this  is.  Nothing 
can  make  them  more  dangerous,  but  that,  as  they  are 
already  in  general  composed  of  his  disciples  and  instru- 
ments, they  may  add  to  the  public  calamity  of  their 
own  measures,  the  adoption  of  his  projects.  But  be 
the  ministers  what  they  may,  the  author  knows  that 
they  could  not  avoid  applying  this  450,000Z.  to  the  ser- 
vice of  the  establishment,  as  faithfully  as  he,  or  any 
other  minister,  could  do.  I  say  they  could  not  avoid 
it,  and  have  no  merit  at  all  for  the  application.  But 
supposing  that  they  should  greatly  mismanage  this 
revenue.  Here  is  a  good  deal  of  room  for  mistake 
and  prodigality  before  you  come  to  tlie  edge  of  ruin. 
The  difference  between  the  amount  of  that  real  and 
his  imaginary  revenue  is,  150,000/,  a  year  at  least ;  a 
tolerable  sum  for  them  to  play  with :  this  might  com- 
pensate the  difference  between  the  author's  economy 
and  their  profusion  ;  and  still,  notwithstanding  their 


360  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

vices  and  ignorance,  the  nation  might  be  saved.  The 
author  ought  also  to  recollect,  that  a  good  man  would 
hardly  deny,  even  to  the  worst  of  ministers,  the 
means  of  doing  their  duty;  especially  in  a  crisis  when 
our  being  depended  on  supplying  them  with  some 
means  or  other.  In  such  a  case  their  penury  of  mind, 
in  discovering  resources,  would  make  it  rather  the 
more  necessary,  not  to  strip  such  poor  providers  of 
the  little  stock  they  had  in  hand. 

Besides,  here  is  another  subject  of  distress,  and  a 
very  serious  one,  which  puts  us  again  to  a  stand.  The 
author  may  possibly  not  come  into  power  (I  only  state 
the  possibility):  he  may  not  always  continue  in  it: 
and  if  the  contrary  to  all  this  should  fortunately  for 
us  happen,  what  insurance  on  his  life  can  be  made 
for  a  sum  adequate  to  his  loss  ?  Then  we  are  thus 
unluckily  situated,  that  the  chance  of  an  American 
and  Irish  revenue  of  300,000^.  to  be  managed  byliim, 
is  to  save  us  from  ruin  two  or  three  years  hence  at 
best,  to  make  us  happy  at  home  and  glorious  abroad  ; 
and  the  actual  possession  of  400,000Z.  English  taxes 
cannot  so  much  as  protract  our  ruin  without  him. 
So  Ave  are  staked  on  four  chances ;  his  power,  its  per- 
manence, the  success  of  his  projects,  and  the  duration 
of  his  life.  Any  one  of  those  failing,  we  are  gone. 
Propria  hcec  si  dona  fuissent !  This  is  no  unfair  rep- 
resentation ;  ultimately  all  hangs  on  his  life,  because, 
in  his  account  of  every  set  of  men  that  have  held  or 
supported  administration,  he  finds  neither  vii-lue  nor 
al)ility  in  any  but  himseH".  Indeed  he  |)ays  (through 
tbeir  measures)  some  complinKMits  to  Lord  Bute  and 
Lord  DesponsPi-.  Ibit  fo  tbc  lattm',  tliis  is,  I  suppose, 
but  a  civility  Id  oM  ii((|ii;iiiil:iii(;c  :  to  the  foiMnor,  a 
little  stroke  ofpoliliis.      Ww  may  therefore  fairly  say, 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF   THE   NATION.         361 

that  our  only  hope  is  his  life  ;  and  he  has,  to  make  it 
the  more  so,  taken  care  to  cut  off  any  resource  which 
we  possessed  independently  of  him. 

In  the  next  place  it  may  be  said,  to  excuse  any  ap- 
pearance of  inconsistency  between  the  author's  ac- 
tions and  his  declarations,  that  he  thought  it  right  to 
relieve  the  landed  interest,  and  lay  the  burden  where 
it  ought  to  he,  on  the  colonies.  What!  to  take  off 
a  revenue  so  necessary  to  our  being,  before  anything 
whatsoever  was  acquired  in  the  place  of  it  ?  In  pru- 
dence, he  ought  to  have  waited  at  least  for  the  first 
quarter's  receipt  of  the  new  anonymous  American 
revenue,  and  Irish  land-tax.  Is  there  something  so 
specific  for  our  disorders  in  American,  and  something 
so  poisonous  in  English  money,  that  one  is  to  heal, 
the  other  to  destroy  us  ?  To  say  that  the  landed  in- 
terest could  not  continue  to  pay  it  for  a  year  or  two 
longer,  is  more  than  the  author  will  attempt  to  prove. 
To  say  that  they  would  pay  it  no  longer,  is  to  treat 
the  landed  interest,  in  my  opinion,  very  scurvily. 
To  suppose  that  the  gentry,  clergy,  and  freeholders 
of  England  do  not  rate  the  commerce,  the  credit,  the 
religion,. the  liberty,  the  independency  of  their  coun- 
try, and  the  succession  of  their  crown,  at  a  shilling 
in  the  pound  land-tax !  They  never  gave  him  reason 
to  think  so  meanly  of  them.  And,  if  I  am  rightly  in- 
formed, when  that  measure  was  debated  in  Parlia- 
ment, a  very  different  reason  was  assigned  by  the 
author's  great  friend,  as  well  as  by  others,  for  that 
reduction :  one  very  diiferent  from  the  critical  and 
almost  desperate  state  of  our  finances.  Some  people 
then  endeavored  to  prove,  that  the  reduction  might 
be  made  without  detriment  to  the  national  credit,  or 
the  due  support  of  a  proper  peace  establishment ;  oth- 


362  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

erwise  it  is  obvious  that  the  reduction  could  not  be 
defended  in  argument.  So  that  this  author  cannot 
despair  so  much  of  the  commonwealth,  without  this 
American  and  Irish  revenue,  as  he  pretends  to  do. 
If  he  does,  the  reader  sees  how  handsomely  he  has 
provided  for  us,  by  voting  away  one  revenue,  and  by 
giving  us  a  pamphlet  on  the  other. 

I  do  not  mean  to  blame  the  relief  which  was  then 
given  by  Parliament  to  the  land.  It  was  grounded 
on  very  weighty  reasons.  The  administration  con- 
tended only  for  its  continuance  for  a  year,  in  order 
to  have  the  merit  of  taking  off  the  shilling  in  the 
pound  immediately  before  the  elections ;  and  thus 
to  bribe  the  freeholders  of  England  with  their  own 
money. 

It  is  true,  the  author,  in  his  estimate  of  ways  and 
means,  takes  credit  for  400,000^.  a  year,  Indian  Rev- 
enue. But  he  will  not  very  positively  insist,  that  we 
should  put  this  revenue  to  the  account  of  his  plans  or 
his  power ;  and  for  a  very  plain  reason :  we  are  al- 
ready near  two  years  in  possession  of  it.  By  what 
means  we  came  to  that  possession,  is  a  pretty  long 
story;  however,  I  sliall  give  nothing  more  than  a 
short  abstract  of  the  proceeding,  in  order  to  see 
whether  the  author  will  take  to  himself  any  part  in 
that  measure. 

The  fact  is  this ;  the  East  India  Company  had  for 
a  good  while  solicited  the  ministry  for  a  negotiation, 
by  wliich  they  proposed  to  pay  largely  for  some  ad- 
vantages in  their  trade,  and  for  the  renewal  of  their 
charter.  This  had  been  the  former  nietliod  of  trans- 
acting with  Ihiit  body.  Government  having  only 
leased  the  monopoly  for  short  terms,  the  Coinjinny 
has  been  obliged  to  rcsoi't  1o  il   riT(|n(Milly  for  renew- 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    363 

als.  These  two  parties  had  always  negotiated  (on  the 
true  principle  of  credit)  not  as  government  and  sub- 
ject, but  as  equal  dealers,  on  the  footing  of  mutual 
advantage.  The  public  had  derived  great  benefit 
from  such  dealing.  But  at  that  time  new  ideas  pre- 
vailed. The  ministry,  instead  of  listening  to  the  pro- 
posals of  that  Company,  chose  to  set  up  a  claim  of  the 
crown  to  their  possessions.  The  original  plan  seems 
to  have  been,  to  get  the  House  of  Commons  to  com- 
pliment the  crown  with  a  sort  of  juridical  declaratif)n 
of  a  title  to  tlie  Company's  acquisitions  in  India; 
which  the  crown  on  its  part,  with  the  best  air  in  tlie 
world,  was  to  bestow  upon  the  public.  Then  it 
would  come  to  the  turn  of  tiie  House  of  Commons 
again  to  be  liberal  and  grateful  to  the  crown.  The 
civil  list  debts  were  to  be  paid  off;  with  perhaps  a 
pretty  augmentation  of  income.  All  this  was  to  be 
done  on  the  most  public-spirited  principles,  and  with 
a  politeness  and  mutual  interchange  of  good  offices, 
that  could  not  but  have  charmed.  But  what  was 
best  of  all,  these  civilities  were  to  be  without  a  far- 
thing of  charge  to  either  of  the  kind  and  obliging 
parties.  The  East  India  Company  was  to  be  covered 
with  infamy  and  disgrace,  and  at  the  same  time  was 
to  pay  the  whole  bill. 

In  consequence  of  this  scheme,  the  terrors  of  a 
parliamentary  inquiry  were  hung  over  them.  A  ju- 
dicature was  asserted  in  Parliament  to  try  this  ques- 
tion. But  lest  this  judicial  character  should  chance 
to  inspire  certain  stubborn  ideas  of  law  and  right,  it 
was  argued,  that  the  judicature  was  arbitrary,  and 
ought  not  to  determine  by  the  rules  of  law,  but  by 
tlieir  opinion  of  policy  and  expediency.  Nothing  ex- 
ceeded the  violence  of  some  of  the  managers,  except 


364  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE    PUBLICATION 

their  impotence.  They  were  bewildered  by  their  pas- 
sions, and  by  their  want  of  knowledge  or  want  of  con- 
sideration of  the  subject.  The  more  they  advanced, 
the  further  they  found  themselves  from  their  ob- 
ject.— All  things  ran  into  confusion.  The  ministers 
quarrelled  among  themselves.  They  disclaimed  one 
another.  They  suspended  violence,  and  shrunk  from 
treaty.  The  inquiry  was  almost  at  its  last  gasp ; 
when  some  active  persons  of  the  Company  were  given 
to  understand  that  this  hostile  proceeding  was  only 
set  up  in  terrorem  ;  that  government  was  far  from  an 
intention  of  seizing  upon  the  possessions  of  the  Com- 
pany. Administration,  they  said,  was  sensible,  that 
the  idea  was  in  every  light  full  of  absurdity ;  and 
that  such  a  seizure  was  not  more  out  of  their  power, 
than  remote  fi'om  their  wishes  ;  and  therefore,  if  the 
Company  would  come  in  a  liberal  manner  to  the 
House,  they  certainly  could  not  fail  of  putting  a 
speedy  end  to  this  disagreeable  business,  and  of  open- 
ing a  way  to  an  advantageous  treaty. 

On  this  hint  the  Company  acted :  they  came  at 
once  to  a  resolution  of  getting  rid  of  the  difiiculties 
which  arose  from  the  compli  ;ation  of  their  trade  with 
their  revenue;  a  step  whicli  despoiled  them  of  their 
best  defensive  armor,  and  put  them  at  once  into  the 
power  of  administration.  They  threw  their  whole 
stock  of  every  kind,  tlie  revenue,  tlie  trade,  and  even 
tlioir  debt  from  government,  into  one  fund,  wliich 
they  computed  on  the  surest  grounds  would  amount 
to  800,000/.,  with  a  large  probable  surplus  for  the 
payment  of  debt.  Thon  they  agreed  to  divide  this 
sum  in  equal  portions  between  themselves  and  the 
j)ul»lic,  4(H),()00/.  to  each.  This  gave  to  the  pro])ric- 
tors  of  tliat  fund  an  annual  augmentation  of  no  moro 


ON  THE  PBESENT  STATE  OP  THE  NATION.    365 

than  80,000Z.  dividend.  They  ought  to  receive  from 
government  120,000Z.  for  the  loan  of  their  capital. 
So  that,  in  fact,  the  whole,  which  on  this  plan  they  re- 
served to  themselves,  from  their  vast  revenues,  from 
their  extensive  trade,  and  in  consideration  of  the  great 
risks  and  mighty  expenses  which  purchased  these  ad- 
vantages, amounted  to  no  more  than  280,000/.,  whilst 
government  was  to  receive,  as  I  said,  400,000/. 

This  proposal  was  thought  by  themselves  liberal 
indeed;  and  they  expected  the  highest  applauses 
for  it.  However,  their  reception  was  very  different 
from  their  expectations.  When  they  brought  up 
their  plan  to  the  House  of  Commons,  the  offer,  as  it 
was  natural,  of  400,000Z.  was  very  well  relished.  But 
nothing  could  be  more  disgustful  than  the  80,000/. 
which  the  Company  had  divided  amongst  tliemselves. 
A  violent  tempest  of  public  indignation  and  fury 
rose  against  them.  The  heads  of  people  turned. 
The  Company  was  held  well  able  to  pay  400,000/, 
a  year  to  government ;  but  bankrupts,  if  they  at- 
tempted to  divide  the  fifth  part  of  it  among  them- 
selves. An  ex  post  facto  law  was  brought  in  with 
great  precipitation,  for  annulling  this  dividend.  In 
the  bill  was  inserted  a  clause,  which  suspended  for 
about  a  year  the  right,  which,  under  the  public  faith, 
the  Company  enjoyed,  of  making  their  own  dividends. 
Such  was  the  disposition  and  temper  of  the  House, 
that  although  the  plain  face  of  facts,  reason,  arithme- 
tic, all  the  authority,  parts,  and  eloquence  in  the 
kingdom,  were  agahist  this  bill ;  though  all  the  Chan- 
cellors of  the  Exchequer,  who  had  held  that  office 
from  the  beginning  of  this  reign,  opposed  it ;  yet  a 
few  placemen  of  the  subordinate  departments  sprung 
out  of  their  ranks,  took  the  lead,  and,  by  an  opinion 


366  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE  PUBLICATION 

of  some  sort  of  secret  sujyport,  carried  the  bill  with  a 
high  hand,  leaving  the  then  Secretary  of  State  and 
the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  in  a  very  moderate 
minority.  In  this  distracted  situation,  the  managers 
of  the  bill,  notwitlistanding  their  triumph,  did  not 
venture  to  propose  the  payment  of  the  civil  list  debt. 
The  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  was  not  in  good 
humor  enough,  after  his  late  defeat  by  his  own  troops, 
to  co-operate  in  such  a  design  ;  so  they  made  an  act, 
to  lock  up  the  money  in  the  exchequer  until  they 
should  have  time  to  look  about  them,  and  settle 
among  themselves  what  they  were  to  do  with  it. 

Thus  ended  tliis  unparalleled  transaction.  The 
author,  I  believe,  will  not  claim  any  part  of  the  glory 
of  it :  he  will  leave  it  whole  and  entire  to  the  authors 
of  the  measure.  The  money  was  the  voluntary,  free 
gift  of  the  Company;  the  rescinding  bill  was  the  act 
of  legislature,  to  which  they  and  we  owe  submission : 
the  author  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  one  or  with  the 
other.  However,  he  cannot  avoid  rubbing  himself 
against  this  subject  merely  for  the  pleasure  of  stirring 
controversies,  and  gratifying  a  certain  pruriency  of 
taxation  that  seems  to  infect  his  blood.  It  is  merely 
to  indulge  himself  in  speculations  of  taxing,  that  he 
chooses  to  harangue  on  this  subject.  For  he  takes 
credit  for  no  greater  sum  than  the  public  is  already 
in  possession  of.  He  does  not  hint  that  the  Company 
means,  or  has  ever  shown  any  disposition,  if  managed 
with  common  prudence,  to  pay  less  in  future  ;  and  he 
cannot  doul)t  tliat  the  present  ministry  are  as  well  in- 
clined to  drive  them  by  their  mock  inquiries,  and  real 
rescinding  bills,  as  he  can  possibly  be  with  his  taxes. 
Besides,  it  is  obvious,  that  as  great  a  sum  miglit  have 
been  drawn    from  that  Company,  without  allecting 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OP  THE   NATION.         367 

property,  or  shaking  the  constitution,  or  endangering 
the  principle  of  public  credit,  or  running  into  his  golden 
dreams  of  cockets  on  the  Ganges,  or  visions  of  stamp- 
duties  on  Perwannas,  Dusticks,  Kistbundees,  and  ITus- 
bulhookums.  For  once,  I  will  disappoint  him  in  this 
part  of  the  dispute ;  and  only  in  a  very  few  words 
recommend  to  his  consideration,  how  he  is  to  get  off 
the  dangerous  idea  of  taxing  a  public  fund,  if  he  lev- 
ies those  duties  in  England  ;  and  if  he  is  to  levy  thejn 
in  India,  what  provision  he  has  made  for  a  revenue 
establishment  there ;  supposing  that  he  undertakes 
this  new  scheme  of  finance  independently  of  the  Com- 
pany, and  against  its  inclinations. 

So  much  for  these  revenues ;  which  are  nothing 
but  his  visions,  or  already  the  national  possessions 
without  any  act  of  his.  It  is  easy  to  parade  with  a 
high  talk  of  Parliamentary  rights,  of  the  universality 
of  legislative  powers,  and  of  uniform  taxation.  Men 
of  sense,  when  new  projects  come  before  them,  always 
think  a  discourse  proving  the  mere  right  or  mere 
power  of  acting  in  the  manner  proposed,  to  be  no 
more  than  a  very  unpleasant  way  of  misspending  time. 
They  must  see  the  object  to  be  of  proper  magnitude 
to  engage  them ;  they  must  see  the  means  of  com- 
passing it  to  be  next  to  certain  ;  the  mischiefs  not  to 
counterbalance  the  profit ;  they  will  examine  how  a 
proposed  imposition  or  regulation  agrees  with  the 
opinion  of  those  who  are  likely  to  be  affected  by  it ; 
they  will  not  despise  the  consideration  even  of  their 
habitudes  and  prejudices.  They  wish  to  know  how 
it  accords  or  disagrees  with  the  true  spirit  of  prior 
establishments,  whether  of  government  or  of  finance  ; 
because  they  well  know,  that  in  the  com})licated 
economy  of  great  kingdoms,  and  immense  revenues, 


368  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

which  ill  a  length  of  time,  and  by  a  variety  of  acci- 
dents have  coalesced  into  a  sort  of  body,  an  attempt 
towards  a  compulsory  equality  in  all  circumstances, 
and  an  exact  practical  definition  of  the  supreme 
rights  in  every  case,  is  the  most  dangerous  and  chi- 
merical of  all  enterprises.  The  old  building  stands 
well  enough,  though  part  Gothic,  part  Grecian,  and 
part  Chinese,  until  an  attempt  is  made  to  square  it 
into  uniformity.  Then  it  may  come  down  upon  our 
heads  altogether,  in  much  uniformity  of  ruin ;  and 
great  will  be  the  fall  thereof.  Some  people,  instead 
of  inclining  to  debate  the  matter,  only  feel  a  sort  of 
nausea,  when  they  are  told,  that  "  protection  calls  for 
supply,"  and  that  "  all  the  parts  ouglit  to  contribute 
to  the  support  of  the  whole."  Strange  argument  for 
great  and  grave  deliberation  !  As  if  the  same  end 
may  not,  and  must  not,  be  compassed,  according  to  its 
circumstances,  by  a  great  diversity  of  ways.  Thus, 
in  Great  Britain,  some  of  our  establishments  are  apt 
for  the  support  of  credit.  They  stand  therefore  upon 
a  principle  of  their  own,  distinct  from,  and  in  some 
respects  contrary  to,  the  relation  between  prince  and 
subject.  It  is  a  new  species  of  contract  superinduced 
upon  the  old  contract  of  the  state.  The  idea  of  pow- 
er must  as  much  as  possible  be  banished  from  it ;  for 
power  and  credit  are  things  adverse,  incompatible; 
Non  bene  convenmnt,  nee  in  una  sede  inorantur.  Such 
establisliincnts  are  our  great  moneyed  companies.  To 
tax  them  wouUl  be  critical  and  dangerous,  and  con- 
tradictory to  the  very  purpose  of  their  institution  ; 
which  is  credit,  and  cannot  therefore  be  taxation. 
IJut  the  nation,  wiicn  it  gave  up  that  power,  did  not 
give  u]>  the  advantage;  but  supposed,  and  with  rea- 
bou,  that  government  was  overpaid  in  credit,  for  what 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF   THE   NATION.         369 

it  seemed  to  lose  in  authority.  In  such  a  case  to  talk 
of  the  rights  of  sovereignty  is  quite  idle.  Other  es- 
tablishments supply  other  modes  of  public  contribu- 
tion. Our  trading  companies,  as  well  as  individiial 
importers,  are  a  fit  subject  of  revenue  by  customs. 
Some  establishments  pay  us  by  a  monopoly  of  their 
consumption  and  their  produce.  This,  nominally  no 
tax,  in  reality  comprehends  all  taxes.  Such  estab- 
lishments are  our  colonies.  To  tax  them  would  be 
as  erroneous  in  policy,  as  rigorous  in  equity.  Ireland 
supplies  us  by  furnishing  troops  in  war  ;  and  by  beai- 
ing  part  of  our  foreign  establishment  in  peace.  She 
aids  us  at  all  times  by  the  money  that  her  absentees 
spend  amongst  us ;  which  is  no  small  part  of  the 
rental  of  that  kingdom.  Thus  Ireland  contributes 
her  part.  Some  objects  bear  port-duties.  Some  are 
fitter  for  an  inland  excise.  The  mode  varies,  the 
object  is  the  same.  To  strain  these  from  their  old 
and  inveterate  leanings,  might  impair  the  old  benefit, 
and  not  answer  the  end  of  the  new  project.  Among 
all  the  great  men  of  antiquity,  Procrustes  shall  never 
be  my  hero  of  legislation  ;  with  his  iron  bed,  the  alle- 
gory of  his  government,  and  the  type  of  some  modern 
policy,  by  which  the  long  limb  was  to  be  cut  short, 
and  the  short  tortured  into  length.  Such  was  the 
state-bed  of  uniformity !  He  would,  I  conceive,  be  a 
very  indifferent  farmer,  who  complained  that  his  sheep 
did  not  plough,  or  his  horses  yield  him  wool,  though 
it  would  be  an  idea  full  of  equality.  They  may  think 
this  right  in  rustic  economy,  who  think  it  available  in 
the  politic : 

Qni  Bavium  non  odit,  amct  tua  cannina,  Msevi ! 
Atque  idem  jungat  vulpes,  et  mulgeat  «}iircos. 

As  the  author  has  stated  this  Indian  taxation  for 

VOL.  I.  24 


370  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

no  visible  purpose  relative  to  his  plan  of  supply,  so 
he  has  stated  many  other  projects  with  as  little,  if  any 
distinct  end  ;  unless  perhaps  to  show  you  how  full 
he  is  of  projects  for  the  public  good ;  and  what  vast 
expectations  may  be  formed  of  him  or  his  friends,  if 
they  should  be  translated  into  administration.  It  is 
also  from  some  opinion  that  these  speculations  may 
one  day  become  our  public  measures,  that  I  think  it 
worth  while  to  trouble  the  reader  at  all  about  them. 

Two  of  them  stand  out  in  high  relievo  beyond  tlie 
rest.  The  first  is  a  change  in  the  internal  represen- 
tation of  this  country,  by  enlarging  our  number  of 
constituents.  The  second  is  an  addition  to  our  repre- 
sentatives, by  new  American  members  of  Parliament. 
I  pass  over  here  all  considerations  how  far  such  a 
system  will  be  an  improvement  of  our  constitution 
according  to  any  sound  theory.  Not  that  I  mean  to 
condemn  such  speculative  inquiries  concerning  this 
great  object  of  the  national  attention.  They  may 
tend  to  clear  doubtful  points,  and  possibly  may  lead, 
as  they  have  often  done,  to  real  improvements.  What 
I  object  to,  is  their  introduction  into  a  discourse  re- 
lating to  tlie  immediate  state  of  our  affairs,  and  rec- 
ommending plans  of  practical  government.  In  tliis 
view,  I  see  nothing  in  them  but  what  is  usual  with 
the  author  ;  an  attempt  to  raise  discontent  in  the 
people  of  England,  to  balance  those  discontents 
whicli  the  measures  of  liis  friends  had  already 
raised  in  America.  What  other  reason  can  lie 
have  for  suggesting,  that  we  are  not  Inipjiy  enough 
to  enjoy  a  sufficient  number  of  voters  in  England  ? 
1  believe  that  most  sober  thinkers  on  this  sul)ject 
arc  rather  of  opinion,  (bat  our  fault  is  u\\  Mie  other 
side  ;  and  that  it  would  l)o  more  in  the  spirit  of  our 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    371 

constitution,  and  more  agreeable  to  tlie  pattern  of 
our  best  laws,  by  lessening  the  number,  to  add  to  the 
weight  and  independency  of  our  voters.  And  truly, 
considering  the  immense  and  dangerous  charge  of 
elections  ;  the  prostitute  and  daring  venality,  the  cor- 
ruption of  manners,  the  idleness  and  profligacy  of 
the  lower  sort  of  voters,  no  prudent  man  would  pro 
pose  to  increase  such  an  evil,  if  it  be,  as  I  fear  it  is, 
out  of  our  power  to  administer  to  it  any  remedy. 
The  author  proposes  nothing  further.  If  he  has  any 
improvements  that  may  balance  or  may  lessen  this 
inconvenience,  he  has  thought  proper  to  keep  them 
as  usual  in  his  own  breast.  Since  he  has  been  so  re- 
served, I  should  have  wished  he  had  been  as  cautious 
with  regard  to  the  project  itself.  First,  because  he 
observes  justly,  that  his  scheme,  however  it  might 
improve  the  platform,  can  add  nothing  to  the  author- 
ity of  the  legislature  ;  much  I  fear,  it  will  have  a  con 
trary  operation  ;  for,  authority  depending  on  opinion 
at  least  as  much  as  on  duty,  an  idea  circulated  among 
the  people  that  our  constitution  is  not  so  perfect  as  it 
ought  to  be,  before  you  are  sure  of  mending  it,  is  a 
certain  method  of  lessening  it  in  the  public  opinion. 
Of  this  irreverent  opinion  of  Parliament,  the  author 
himself  complains  in  one  part  of  his  book ;  and  he 
endeavors  to  increase  it  in  the  other. 

Has  he  well  considered  what  an  immense  operation 
any  change  in  our  constitution  is  ?  how  many  dis- 
cussions, parties,  and  passions,  it  will  necessarily  ex 
cite  ;  and  when  you  open  it  to  inquiry  in  one  part, 
where  the  inquiry  will  stop  ?  Experience  shows  us, 
that  no  time  can  be  fit  for  such  clianges  but  a  time 
of  general  confusion  ;  when  good  men,  finding  every- 
thing already  broken  up,  think  it  right  to  take  advan- 


872  OBSEEVATIOXS    ON   A    LATE    PUBLICATION 

tage  of  the  opportunity  of  such  derangement  in  favor 
of  an  useful  alteration.  Perhaps  a  time  of  the  great- 
est security  and  tranquillity  both  at  home  and  abroad 
may  likewise  be  fit ;  but  will  the  author  affirm  this  to 
be  just  such  a  time  ?  Transferring  an  idea  of  mili- 
tary to  civil  prudence,  he  ought  to  know  how  danger- 
ous it  is  to  make  an  alteration  of  your  disposition  in 
the  face  of  an  enemy. 

Now  comes  his  American  representation.  Here 
too,  as  usual,  he  takes  no  notice  of  any  difficulty,  nor 
says  anything  to  obviate  those  objections  that  must 
naturally  arise  in  the  minds  of  his  readers.  He  throws 
you  his  politics  as  he  does  his  revenue  ;  do  you  make 
something  of  them  if  you  can.  Is  not  the  reader  a 
little  astonished  at  the  proposal  of  an  American  rep- 
resentation from  that  quarter  ?  It  is  proposed  merely 
as  a  project  *  of  speculative  improvement ;  not  from 
the  necessity  in  the  case,  not  to  add  anything  to  the 
authority  of  Parliament,  but  that  we  may  afford  a 
greater  attention  to  the  concerns  of  the  Americans, 
and  give  them  a  better  opportunity  of  stating  their 
grievances,  and  of  obtaining  redress.  I  am  glad  to 
find  the  author  has  at  length  discovered  that  wo  have 
not  given  a  sufficient  attention  to  their  concerns,  or 
a  proper  redress  to  their  grievances.  His  gi-cat  friend 
would  once  have  been  exceedingly  displeased  with 
any  person,  Avho  should  tell  him,  that  he  did  not  at- 
tend sTifficiently  to  those  concerns.  He  thought  he 
did  so,  when  he  regulated  the  colonics  over  and  over 
again  :  he  tliought  he  did  so  when  he  formed  two 
general  systems  of  revenue  ;  one  of  port-duties,  and 
the  other  (A'  inlfnnil  taxation.  These  systems  sup- 
posed, or  ought  to  suppose,  the  greatest  attention  to 

•  Tugcs  aa,  40. 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE    OP   THE    NATION.         873 

and  the  most  detailed  information  of,  all  tlieir  affairs. 
However,  by  contending  for  the  American  representa- 
tion, he  seems  at  last  driven  virtually  to  admit,  that 
great  caution  ought  to  be  used  in  tlie  exercise  of  all 
our  legislative  riglits  over  an  object  so  remote  from 
our  eye,  and  so  little  connected  with  our  immediate 
feelings ;  that  in  prudence  we  ought  not  to  be  quite 
so  rea.dy  with  our  taxes,  until  we  can  secure  the  de- 
sired representation  in  Parliament.  Perhaps  it  may 
be  some  time  before  this  hopeful  scheme  can  be 
brought  to  perfect  maturity,  although  the  author 
seems  to  be  in  no  Avise  aware  of  any  obstructions 
that  lie  in  the  way  of  it.  He  talks  of  his  union,  just 
as  he  does  of  his  taxes  and  his  savings,  with  as  much 
sangfroid  and  ease  as  if  his  wish  and  the  enjoyment 
were  exactly  the  same  thing.  He  appears  not  to 
have  troubled  his  head  with  the  infinite  difficulty  of 
settling  that  representation  on  a  fair  balance  of  wealth 
and  numbers  throughout  the  several  provinces  of 
America  and  the  West  Indies,  under  such  an  infinite 
variety  of  circumstances.  It  costs  him  nothing  to 
fight  with  nature,  and  to  conquer  the  order  of  Provi- 
dence, which  manifestly  opposes  itself  to  the  possi- 
bility of  such  a  Parliamentary  imion. 

But  let  us,  to  indulge  his  passion  for  projects  and 
power,  suppose  the  happy  time  arrived,  when  the  au- 
thor comes  into  the  ministry,  and  is  to  realize  his 
speculations.  The  writs  are  issued  for  electing  mem- 
bers for  America  and  the  West  Indies.  Some  prov- 
inces receive  them  in  six  weeks,  some  in  ten,  some  in 
twenty.  A  vessel  may  be  lost,  and  then  some  prov- 
inces may  not  receive  them  at  all.  But  let  it  be,  that 
they  all  receive  them  at  once,  and  in  the  shortest 
time.     A  proper  space  must  be  given  for  proclama- 


374  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE    PUBLICATION 

tioii  and  for  the  election  ;  some  weeks  at  least.  But 
the  members  are  chosen  ;  and  if  ships  are  ready  to 
sail,  in  about  six  more  they  arrive  in  London.  In 
the  mean  time  the  Parliament  has  sat  and  business 
far  advanced  without  American  representatives.  Nay, 
by  this  time,  it  may  happen  that  the  Parliament  is 
dissolved  ;  and  then  the  members  ship  themselves 
again,  to  be  again  elected.  The  writs  may  arrive  in 
Ajnerica,  before  the  poor  members  of  a  Parliament  in 
which  they  never  sat,  can  arrive  at  their  several  prov- 
inces. A  new  interest  is  formed,  and  they  find  other 
members  are  chosen  whilst  they  are  on  the  high  seas. 
But,  if  the  writs  and  members  arrive  together,  here 
is  at  best  a  new  trial  of  skill  amongst  the  candidates, 
after  one  set  of  them  have  well  aired  themselves  with 
their  two  voyages  of  GOOO  miles. 

However,  in  order  to  facilitate  everything  to  the 
author,  we  will  suppose  thom  all  once  more  elected, 
and  steering  again  to  Old  England,  with  a  good  heart, 
and  a  fair  westerly  wind  in  their  stern.  On  their 
arrival,  they  find  all  in  a  hurry  and  bustle ;  in  and 
out ;  condolence  and  congratulation  ;  the  crown  is  de- 
mised. Another  Parliament  is  to  be  called.  Away 
back  to  America  again  on  a  fourth  voyage,  and  to  a 
third  election.  Does  the  author  mean  to  make  our 
kings  as  immortal  in  their  personal  as  in  their  politic 
character  ?  or  whilst  he  bountifully  adds  to  theif  life, 
will  lie  take  from  them  their  prei'ogative  of  dissolv- 
ing Parliaments,  in  favor  of  the  American  union  ?  or 
are  tlie  American  representatives  to  be  perpetual,  and 
to  feel  Jieitber  demises  of  the  crown,  nor  dissolutions 
of  I'arliamcnt  ? 

But  these  things  may  be  granted  to  him,  without 
bringing  him  much  nearer  to  his  point.     What  does 


ON  THE   PEESENT   STATE   OF  THE   NATION.         375 

he  think  of  re-election  ?  is  the  American  member  the 
only  one  who  is  not  to  take  a  place,  or  the  only  one 
to  be  exempted  from  the  ceremony  of  re-election  ? 
How  will  this  great  politician  preserve  the  rights  of 
electors,  the  fairness  of  returns,  and  the  privilege  of 
the  House  of  Commons,  as  the  sole  judge  of  such  con- 
tests ?  It  would  undoubtedly  be  a  glorious  sight  to 
have  eight  or  ten  petitions,  or  double  returns,  from 
Boston  and  Barbadoes,  from  Philadelphia  and  Ja- 
maica, the  members  returned,  and  the  petitioners, 
with  all  tlieir  train  of  attorneys,  solicitors,  mayors, 
selectmen,  provost-marshals,  and  above  five  hundred 
or  a  thousand  witnesses,  come  to  the  bar  of  the  House 
of  Commons.  Possibly  we  might  be  interrupted  in 
the  enjoyment  of  this  pleasing  spectacle,  if  a  war 
should  break  out,  and  our  constitutional  fleet,  loaded 
with  members  of  Parliament,  returning-officers,  peti- 
tions, and  witnesses,  the  electors  and  elected,  should 
become  a  prize  to  the  French  or  Spaniards,  and  be 
conveyed  to  Carthagena,  or  to  La  Vera  Cruz,  and 
from  thence  perhaps  to  Mexico  or  Lima,  there  to  re- 
main until  a  cartel  for  members  of  Parliament  can  be 
settled,  or  until  the  war  is  ended. 

In  truth  the  author  has  little  studied  this  business  ; 
or  he  might  have  known,  that  some  of  the  most  con- 
siderable provinces  of  America,  such,  for  instance,  as 
Connecticut  and  Massachusetts  Bay,  have  not  in  each 
of  them  two  men  who  can  afford,  at  a  distance  from 
their  estates,  to  spend  a  thousand  pounds  a  year. 
How  can  these  provinces  be  represented  at  Westmin- 
ster ?  If  their  province  pays  them,  they  are  American 
agents,  with  salaries,  and  not  independent  members 
of  Parliament.  It  is  true,  that  formerly  in  England 
members  had  salaries  fi-om  their  constituents ;  but 


376  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

they  all  had  salaries,  and  were  all,  in  this  way,  upon 
a  par.  If  these  American  representatives  have  no 
salaries,  then  they  must  add  to  the  list  of  our  pension- 
ers and  dependents  at  court,  or  they  must  starve. 
There  is  no  alternative. 

Enough  of  this  visionary  union ;  in  which  much 
extravagance  appears  without  any  fancy,  and  the 
judgment  is  shocked  without  anything  to  refresh  the 
imagination.  It  looks  as  if  the  author  had  dropped 
down  from  the  moon,  without  any  knowledge  of  the 
general  nature  of  this  globe,  of  the  general  nature  of 
its  inhabitants,  without  the  least  acquaintance  with 
the  affairs  of  this  country.  Governor  Pownall  has 
handled  the  same  subject.  To  do  him  justice,  he 
treats  it  upon  far  more  rational  principles  of  specula- 
tion ;  and  much  more  like  a  man  of  business.  He 
thinks  (erroneously,  I  conceive ;  but  he  does  think) 
that  our  legislative  rights  are  incomplete  without  such 
a  representation.  It  is  no  wonder,  therefore,  that  he 
endeavors  by  every  means  to  obtain  it.  Not  like  our 
author,  who  is  always  on  velvet,  he  is  aware  of  some 
difficulties;  and  he  proposes  some  solutions.  But 
nature  is  too  hard  for  botli  these  authors  ;  and  Amer- 
ica is,  and  ever  will  be,  without  actual  representation 
in  the  House  of  Commons  ;  nor  will  any  minister  be 
wihl  enough  even  to  propose  such  a  representation  in 
Parliament ;  however  he  may  choose  to  throw  out 
that  project,  together  with  others  equally  far  from  his 
real  opinions,  and  remote  from  his  designs,  ineroly  to 
fall  in  with  tlie  different  views,  and  captivate  the  affec- 
tions, of  dilfL'i-ent  sorts  of  men. 

Wh(!tlu!r  these  projects  arise  from  the  author's  real 
I)olitical  principles,  or  arc  only  brought  out  in  subser- 
vience to  his  i)oliticaI  views,  they  compose  the  whole 


ON   THE    PRESENT    STATE    OF   THE   NATION.  377 

of  iiuytliing  that  is  like  precise  and  definite,  whicli  the 
author  has  given  us  to  expect  from  that  adminibtra- 
tion  which  is  so  much  the  subject  of  his  praises  and 
prayers.  As  to  his  general  propositions,  that  "  there 
is  a  deal  of  difference  between  impossibihties  and 
great  difficulties";  that  "  a  great  scheme  cannot  be 
carried  unless  made  the  business  of  successive  admin- 
istrations ";  that  "  virtuous  and  able  men  are  the  fit- 
test to  serve  their  country  ";  all  this  I  look  on  as  no 
more  than  so  much  rubble  to  fill  up  the  spaces  be- 
tween the  regular  masonry.  Pretty  much  in  the 
same  light  I  cannot  forbear  considering  his  detached 
observations  on  commerce ;  such  as,  that  "  the  sys- 
tem for  colony  regulations  would  be  very  simple,  and 
mutually  beneficial  to  Great  Britain  and  her  colonies, 
if  the  old  navigation  laws  were  adhered  to."  *  That 
"  the. transportation  should  be  in  all  cases  in  ships  be- 
longing to  British  subjects."  That  "  even  British 
ships  should  not  be  generally  received  into  the  colo- 
nies from  any  part  of  Europe,  except  the  dominions 
of  Great  Britain."  That  "it  is  unreasonable  that 
corn  and  such  like  products  should  be  restrained  to 
come  first  to  a  British  port."  What  do  all  these  fine 
observations  signify  ?  Some  of  them  condemn,  as  ill 
practices,  things  that  were  never  practised  at  all. 
Some  recommend  to  be  done,  things  that  always  have 
been  done.  Others  indeed  convey,  though  obliquely 
and  loosely,  some  insinuations  highly  dangerous  to 
our  commerce.  If  I  could  prevail  on  myself  to  think 
the  author  meant  to  ground  any  practice  upon  these 
general  propositions,  I  should  think  it  very  necessary 
to  ask  a  few  questions  about  some  of  them.  For  in- 
stance, what  does  he  mean  by  talking  of  an  adherence 

*  Page  39. 


378  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE  PUBLICATION 

to  the  old  navigation  laws?  Does  he  mean,  that  the 
particular  law,  12  Car.  II.  c.  19,  commonly  called 
"  The  Act  of  Navigation,"  is  to  be  adhered  to,  and 
that  the  several  subsequent  additions,  amendments, 
and  exceiDtions,  ought  to  be  all  repealed  ?  If  so,  he 
will  make  a  strange  havoc  in  the  whole  system  of  our 
trade  laws,  which  have  been  universally  acknowledged 
to  be  full  as  well  founded  in  the  alterations  and  ex- 
ceptions, as  the  act  of  Charles  the  Second  in  the  origi- 
nal provisions  ;  and  to  pursue  full  as  wisely  the  great 
end  of  that  very  politic  law,  the  increase  of  the  Brit- 
ish navigation.  I  fancy  the  writer  could  hardly  pro- 
pose anything  more  alarming  to  those  immediately 
interested  in  that  navigation  than  such  a  repeal.  If 
he  does  not  mean  this,  he  has  got  no  farther  than  a 
nugatory  proposition,  which  nobody  can  contradict, 
and  for  which  no  man  is  the  wiser. 

That  "  the  regulations  for  the  colony  trade  would 
be  few  and  simple  if  the  old  navigation  laws  were  ad- 
hered to,"  I  utterly  deny  as  a  fact.  That  they  ought 
to  be  so,  sounds  well  enough  ;  but  this  proposition  is 
of  the  same  nugatory  nature  with  some  of  the  former. 
The  regulations  for  the  colony  trade  ought  not  to  be 
more  nor  fewer,  nor  more  nor  less  complex,  than  tlie 
occasion  requires.  And,  as  that  trade  is  in  a  great 
measure  a  system  of  art  and  restriction,  they  can  nei- 
ther be  few  nor  simple.  It  is  true,  that  the  very 
principle  may  be  destroyed,  by  multi])lyiiig  to  excess 
tlie  means  of  securing  it.  Never  did  a  minister  de- 
part more  from  tlie  authors  ideas  of  siniiilicity,  or 
more  embarrass  the  trade  of  America  with  the  multi- 
plicity and  intricacy  of  regulations  and  ordinances, 
than  his  boasted  minister  of  1704.  Tlint  minister 
seomcd  to  be  possessed  wilh  something,  hardly  short 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OP  THE  NATION.    379 

of  a  ragG,  for  regulation  and  restriction.  He  had  so 
multiplied  bonds,  certificates,  affidavits,  warrants,  suf- 
ferances, and  cockets  ;  had  supported  them  with  such 
severe  penalties,  and  extended  them  without  the  least 
consideration  of  circumstances  to  so  many  objects,  that, 
had  they  all  continued  in  their  original  force,  com- 
merce must  speedily  have  expired  under  them.  Some 
of  them,  the  ministry  which  gave  them  birth  was 
obliged  to  destroy  :  with  their  own  hand  they  signed 
the  condemnation  of  their  own  regulations ;  confess- 
ing in  so  many  words,  in  the  preamble  of  their  act  of 
the  5tli  Geo.  III.,  that  some  of  these  regulations  had 
laid  an  unnecessary  restraint  on  the  trade  and  corre 
spondence  of  his  Majesty'' s  American  subjects.  This,  in 
that  ministry,  was  a  candid  confession  of  a  mistake  ; 
but  every  alteration  made  in  those  regulations  by 
their  successors  is  to  be  the  effect  of  envy,  and  Amer- 
ican misrepresentation.  So  much  for  the  author's 
simplicity  in  regulation. 

I  have  now  gone  through  all  which  I  think  imme 
diately  essential  in  the  author's  idea  of  war,  of  peace, 
of  the  comparative  states  of  England  and  France,  of 
our  actual  situation ;  in  his  projects  of  economy,  of 
finance,  of  commerce,  and  of  constitutional  improve- 
ment. There  remains  nothing  now  to  be  considered, 
except  his  heavy  censures  upon  the  administration 
which  was  formed  in  1765  ;  which  is  commonly  known 
by  the  name  of  the  Marquis  of  Rockmgham's  adminis- 
tration, as  the  administration  which  preceded  it  is  by 
that  of  Mr.  Grenville.  These  censures  relate  chiefly 
to  three  heads  :  —  1.  To  the  repeal  of  the  American 
Stamp  Act.  2.  To  the  commercial  regulations  then 
made.  3.  To  the  course  of  foreign  negotiations  dur- 
ing that  short  period. 


380  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

A  person  who  knew  nothing  of  pnblic  affairs  but 
from  the  writings  of  this  author,  would  be  led  to  con- 
clude, that,  at  the  time  of  the  change  in  June,  1765, 
some  well-digested  system  of  administration,  founded 
in  national  strength,  and  in  the  affections  of  the  peo- 
ple, proceeding  in  all  points  with  the  most  reveren- 
tial and  tender  regard  to  the  laws,  and  pursumg  with 
equal  wisdom  and  success  everything  which  could 
tend  to  the  internal  prosperity,  and  to  the  external 
honor  and  dignity  of  this  country,  had  been  all  at 
once  subverted,  by  an  irruption  of  a  sort  of  wild,  li- 
centious, unprincipled  invaders,  wlio  wantonly,  and 
with  a  barbarous  rage,  had  defaced  a  thousand  fair 
monuments  of  the  constitutional  and  political  skill  of 
their  predecessors.  It  is  natural  indeed  that  this  au- 
thor should  have  some  dislike  to  the  administration 
which  was  formed  in  1765.  Its  views,  in  most  things, 
were  different  from  those  of  his  friends  ;  in  some,  al- 
together opposite  to  them.  It  is  impossible  that  both 
of  these  administrations  should  be  the  objects  of  pub- 
lic esteem.  Their  different  principles  compose  some 
of  the  strongest  political  lines  which  discriminate  the 
parties  even  now  sul)sisting  amongst  us.  The  minis- 
ters of  1764  are  not  indeed  followed  by  very  many  in 
their  opposition  ;  yet  a  large  part  of  the  people  now 
in  office  entertain,  or  pretend  to  entertain,  sentiments 
entirely  conformal)le  to  theirs  ;  wliilst  some  of  the  for- 
mer colleagues  of  the  ministry  wliich  was  formed  in 
1765,  however  they  may  have  abandoned  the  conneo 
tion,  and  contradicted  by  their  conduct  the  ])rinciplos 
of  their  former  friends,  pretend,  on  their  ])arts,  still 
to  adhere  to  tlie  siinie  maxims.  All  the  lesser  divis- 
ions, which  :irc  indeed  rather  names  of  personal  at- 
tachmoMt  than  of  party  distinction,  fall  in  with  tho 
one  or  the  otiier  of  these  Iciuling  parties. 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF   THE   NATION.         381 

1  intend  to  state,  as  shortly  as  I  am  able,  the  gen- 
eral condition  of  public  affairs,  and  the  dispoi^ition 
of  the  minds  of  men,  at  the  time  of  the  remarkable 
change  of  system  in  1765.  The  reader  will  have 
thereby  a  more  distinct  view  of  the  comparative  mer 
its  of  these  several  plans,  and  will  receive  more  sat- 
isfaction concerning  the  ground  and  reason  of  the 
measures  which  were  then  pursued,  than,  I  believe, 
can  be  derived  from  the  perusal  of  those  partial  rep- 
resentations contained  in  the  "  State  of  the  Nation," 
and  the  other  writings  of  those  who  have  continued, 
for  now  nearly  three  years,  in  the  undisturbed  posses- 
sion of  the  press.  This  will,  I  hope,  be  some  apol- 
ogy for  my  dwelling  a  little  on  this  part  of  the  subject. 

On  the  resignation  of  the  Earl  of  Bute,  in  1763, 
our  affairs  had  been  delivered  into  the  hands  of  three 
ministers  of  his  recommendation  :  Mr.  Grenville,  the 
Earl  of  Egremont,  and  the  Earl  of  Halifax.  This 
arrangement,  notwithstanding  the  retirement  of  Lord 
Bute,  announced  to  the  public  a  continuance  of  the 
same  measures  ;  nor  was  there  more  reason  to  expect 
a  change  from  the  death  of  the  Earl  of  Egremont. 
The  Earl  of  Sandwich  supplied  his  place.  The  Duke 
of  Bedford,  and  the  gentlemen  who  act  in  that  con- 
nection, and  whose  general  character  and  politics 
were  suflficiently  understood,  added  to  the  strength 
of  the  ndnistry,  without  making  any  alteration  in 
their  plan  of  conduct.  Such  was  the  constitution  of 
the  ministry  which  was  changed  in  1765. 

As  to  their  politics,  the  principles  of  the  peace  of 
Paris  governed  in  foreign  affairs.  In  domestic,  the 
same  scheme  prevailed,  of  contradicting  the  opin- 
ions, and  disgracing  most  of  the  persons,  who  had 
been  countenanced  and  employed  in  the  late  reign. 


o82  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

The  inclinations  of  the  people  were  little  attended  to ; 
and  a  disposition  to  the  use  of  forcible  methods  ran 
through  the  whole  tenor  of  administration.  The  na- 
tion in  general  was  uneasy  and  dissatisfied.  Sober 
men  saw  causes  for  it,  in  the  constitution  of  the  min- 
istry and  the  conduct  of  the  ministers.  The  minis- 
ters, who  have  usually  a  short  method  on  such  occa- 
sions, attributed  their  unpopularity  wholly  to  the 
efforts  of  faction.  However  this  might  be,  the  licen- 
tiousness and  tumults  of  the  common  people,  and  the 
contempt  of  government,  of  which  our  author  so 
often  and  so  bitterly  complains,  as  owing  to  the  mis- 
management of  the  subsequent  administrations,  had 
at  no  time  risen  to  a  greater  or  more  dangerous 
height.  The  measures  taken  t(>  snupress  that  spirit 
were  as  violent  and  licentious  af?  the  spirit  itself;  in- 
judicious, precipitate,  and  some  of  tlicm  illegal.  In- 
stead of  allaying,  they  tended  ii?iinito]y  to  inflame  the 
distemper  ;  and  whoever  will  be  at  the  least  pains  to 
examine,  will  find  those  measures  not  only  the  causes 
of  the  tumults  which  then  pro  vailed,  but  the  real 
sources  of  almost  all  the  disorders  which  have  arisen 
since  that  time.  More  intent  on  making  a  victim  to 
party  than  an  example  of  justice,  they  blundered  in 
the  method  of  pursuing  their  vengeance.  By  this 
means  a  discovery  was  made  of  many  practices,  com- 
mon indeed  in  the  office  of  Secretary  of  State,  but 
wholly  repugnant  to  our  laws,  and  to  the  genius  of 
the  English  constitution.  One  of  the  worst  of  these 
was,  tlie  wanton  and  indiscriminate  sei"ure  of  papers, 
even  in  c:is(!s  wIkm'c  the  safety  of  the  state  was  not 
pretended  in  justification  of  so  liarsh  a  proceeding. 
The  tcni|>er  of  the  ministry  had  excited  a  jealousy, 
which  made  the  people  more  than  commonly  vigilant 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    383 

coiicoriiing  every  power  which  was  exercised  by  gov- 
eniinent.  The  abuse,  however  sanctioned  by  custom, 
was  evident ;  but  the  ministry,  instead  of  resting  in  a 
prudent  inactivity,  or  (what  would  have  been  still 
more  prudent)  taking  the  lead,  in  quieting  the  minds 
of  the  people,  and  ascertaining  the  law  upon  those 
delicate  points,  made  use  of  the  whole  influence  of 
government  to  prevent  a  Parliamentary  resolution 
against  these  practices  of  office.  And  lest  the  color- 
able reasons,  offered  in  argument  against  this  Parlia- 
mentary procedure,  should  be  mistaken  for  the  real 
motives  of  their  conduct,  all  the  advantage  of  privi- 
lege, all  the  arts  and  finesses  of  pleading,  and  great 
sums  of  public  money  were  lavished,  to  prevent  any 
decision  upon  those  practices  in  the  courts  of  justice. 
In  the  mean  time,  in  order  to  weaken,  since  they 
could  not  immediately  destroy,  the  liberty  of  the 
press,  the  privilege  of  Parliament  was  voted  away  in 
all  accusations  for  a  seditious  libel.  The  freedom  of 
debate  in  Parliament  itself  was  no  less  menaced. 
Officers  of  the  army,  of  long  and  meritorious  service, 
and  of  small  fortunes,  were  chosen  as  victims  for  a 
single  vote,  by  an  exertion  of  ministerial  power, 
which  had  been  very  rarely  used,  and  which  is  ex- 
tremely unjust,  as  depriving  men  not  only  of  a  place, 
but  a  profession,  and  is  indeed  of  the  most  pernicious 
example  both  in  a  civil  and  a  military  light. 

Whilst  all  things  were  managed  at  home  with  such 
a  spirit  of  disorderly  despotism,  abroad  there  was  a 
proportionable  abatement  of  all  spirit.  Some  of  our 
most  just  and  valual^le  claims  were  in  a  manner 
abandoned.  This  indeed  seemed  not  very  inconsist- 
ent conduct  in  the  ministers  who  had  made  the  treaty 
of  Paris.     With  regard  to  our  domestic  affairs,  there 


384  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

was  no  want  of  industiy  ;  but  there  was  a  great  defi- 
ciency of  temper  and  judgment,  and  manly  compre- 
liension  of  the  public  interest.  The  nation  certainly 
wanted  relief,  and  government  attempted  to  adminis- 
ter it.  Two  ways  were  principally  chosen  for  this 
great  purpose.  The  first  by  regulations  ;  the  second 
by  new  funds  of  revenue.  Agreeably  to  this  plan,  a 
new  naval  establishment  was  formed  at  a  good  deal 
of  expense,  and  to  little  effect,  to  aid  in  the  collection 
of  the  customs.  Regulation  was  added  to  regula- 
tion ;  and  the  strictest  and  most  unreserved  orders 
were  given,  for  a  prevention  of  all  contraband  trade 
here,  and  in  every  part  of  America.  A  teasing  cus- 
tom-house, and  a  multiplicity  of  perplexing  regula- 
tions, ever  have,  and  ever  will  appear,  the  master- 
piece of  finance  to  people  of  narrow  views ;  as  a  pa- 
per against  smuggling,  and  the  importation  of  French 
finery,  never  fails  of  furnishing  a  very  popular  col- 
nnni  in  a  newspaper. 

The  greatest  part  of  tliese  regulations  wore  made  for 
America  ;  and  they  fell  so  nidiscriminately  on  all  sorts 
of  contraband,  or  supposed  contraband,  that  some  of 
the  most  valuable  branches  of  trade  were  driven 
violently  from  our  ports ;  which  caused  an  univer- 
sal consternation  throughout  the  colonies.  Every 
part  of  the  trade  was  infinitely  distressed  by  them. 
Men-of-war  now  for  the  first  time,  armed  witli  regu- 
lar commissions  of  custom-house  officers,  invested  the 
coasts,  and  gave  to  the  collection  of  revenue  the  air 
of  hostile  contribution.  About  tlie  same  time  that 
these  regulations  seemed  to  threaten  the  destruction 
of  the  only  trade  fn)m  whence  the  )>lantations  derived 
any  specie,  an  act  was  made,  j)utting  a  stop  to  tlui 
future  emission  of  ])apcr  currency,  which  used  to  sup- 


ON    THE    PRESENT   STATE    OF    THE    NATION.         ggj 

ply  its  place  among  them.  Hand  in  hand  with  this 
went  another  act,  for  obliging  tlie  colonies  to  provide 
quarters  for  soldiers.  Instantly  followed  another 
law,  for  levying  throughout  all  America  new  port 
duties,  upon  a  vast  variety  of  commodities  of  their 
consumption,  and  some  of  which  lay  heavy  upon  ob- 
jects necessary  for  their  trade  and  fishery.  Immedi- 
ately upon  the  heels  of  these,  and  amidst  the  uneasi- 
ness and  confusion  produced  by  a  crowd  of  new  im- 
positions and  regulations,  some  good,  some  evil,  some 
doubtful,  all  crude  and  ill-considered,  came  another 
act,  for  imposing  an  universal  stamp-duty  on  the  col- 
onies ;  and  this  was  declared  to  be  little  more  than 
an  experiment,  and  a  foundation  of  future  revenue. 
To  render  these  proceedings  the  more  irritating  to 
the  colonies,  the  principal  argument  used  in  favor  of 
their  ability  to  pay  such  duties  was  the  liberality  of 
the  grants  of  their  assemblies  during  the  late  war. 
Never  could  any  argument  be  more  insulting  and 
mortifying  to  a  people  habituated  to  the  granting  of 
their  own  money. 

Taxes  for  the  purpose  of  raising  revenue  had  hith- 
erto been  sparingly  attempted  in  America.  Without 
ever  doubting  the  extent  of  its  lawful  power.  Parlia- 
ment always  doubted  the  propriety  of  such  imposi- 
tions. And  the  Americans  on  their  part  never 
thought  of  contesting  a  right  by  which  they  were 
so  little  aifected.  Their  assemblies  in  the  main  an- 
swered all  the  purposes  necessary  to  the  internal 
economy  of  a  free  people,  and  provided  for  all  the 
exigencies  of  government  which  arose  amongst  them- 
selves. In  the  midst  of  that  happy  enjoyment,  they 
never  thought  of  critically  settling  the  exact  limits 
of  a  power,  which  was  necessary  to  their  union,  their 

VOL.  I.  25 


385  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A   LATE    PUBLICATION 

safety,  their  equality,  and  even  their  liberty.  Thus 
the  two  very  difficult  points,  superiority  in  the  pre- 
siding state,  and  freedom  in  the  subordinate,  were  on 
the  whole  sufficiently,  that  is,  practically,  reconciled  ; 
without  agitating  those  vexatious  questions,  which 
in  truth  rather  belong  to  metaphysics  than  politics, 
and  which  can  never  be  moved  without  shaking  the 
foundations  of  the  best  governments  that  have  ever 
been  constituted  by  Iniman  wisdom.  By  this  meas- 
ure was  let  loose  that  dangerous  spirit  of  disquisition, 
not  in  the  coolness  of  philosophical  inquiry,  but  in- 
flamed with  all  the  passions  of  a  hauglity,  resentful 
people,  who  thought  themselves  deeply  injured,  and 
that  they  were  contending  for  everything  that  was 
valuable  in  the  world. 

In  England,  our  ministers  went  on  without  the  least 
attention  to  these  alarming  dispositions ;  just  as  if 
they  were  doing  the  most  common  things  in  the  most 
usual  way,  and  among  a  people  not  only  passive,  but 
pleased.  They  took  no  one  step  to  divert  the  dan- 
gerous spirit  wliich  began  even  then  to  appear  in  the 
colonics,  to  compromise  with  it,  to  mollify  it,  or  to 
subdue  it.  No  new  arrangements  were  made  in  civil 
government ;  no  new  powers  or  instructions  were 
given  to  governors ;  no  augmentation  was  made,  or 
new  disposition,  of  forces.  Never  was  so  critical  a 
measure  i)ursucd  with  so  little  provision  against  its 
•necessary  consequences.  As  if  all  common  prudence 
liad  abandoned  the  ministers,  and  as  if  tlioy  meant  to 
plunge  themselves  and  us  headlong  into  that  gulf 
which  stood  ga])ing  Ijcforc  them  ;  by  giving  a  year's 
notice  of  the  j»roJect  of  their  Stamp  Act,  tliey  allowed 
time  for  all  the  discontents  of  that  country  to  fester 
and  come  to  a  head,  and  for  all  the  arrangements 


ox   THE   PRE.SENT   STATE   OF   THE  NATION.         387 

wliicli  factious  men  could  make  towards  an  opposition 
to  the  law.  At  the  same  time  tliey  carefully  con- 
cealed from  the  eye  of  Parliament  those  remon- 
strances which  tliey  had  actually  received ;  and 
which  in  the  strongest  manner  indicated  the  discon- 
tent of  some  of  the  colonies,  and  the  consequences 
which  might  be  expected  ;  they  concealed  them  even 
in  defiance  of  an  order  of  council,  that  they  should 
be  laid  before  Parliament.  Thus,  by  concealing  the 
true  state  of  the  case,  they  rendered  the  wisdom  of 
the  nation  as  improvident  as  their  own  temerity, 
either  in  preventing  or  guarding  against  the  mischief. 
It  has  indeed,  from  the  beginning  to  this  hour,  been 
the  uniform  policy  of  this  set  of  men,  in  order  at  any 
hazard  to  obtain  a  present  credit,  to  propose  whatever 
might  be  pleasing,  as  attended  with  no  difficulty ; 
and  afterwards  to  throw  all  the  disappointment  of 
the  wild  expectations  they  had  raised,  upon  those 
who  have  the  hard  task  of  freeing  the  public  from  the 
consequences  of  their  pernicious  projects. 

Whilst  the  commerce  and  tranquillity  of  the  whole 
empire  were  shaken  in  tliis  manner,  our  affairs  grew 
still  more  distracted  by  the  internal  dissensions  of  our 
ministers.  Treachery  and  ingratitude  were  charged 
from  one  side  ;  despotism  and  tyranny  from  the  other  ; 
the  vertigo  of  tlie  regency  bill ;  the  awkward  recep- 
tion of  the  silk  bill  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
the  inconsiderate  and  abrupt  rejection  of  it  in  the 
House  of  Lords ;  the  strange  and  violent  tumults 
which  arose  in  consequence,  and  which  were  ren- 
dered more  serious  by  being  charged  by  the  minis- 
ters upon  one  another  ;  the  report  of  a  gross  and  bru- 
tal treatment  of  the ,  by  a  minister  at  the  same 

time  odious  to  the  people ;  all  conspired  to  leave  the 


388  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE    PUBLICATION 

public,  at  the  close  of  the  session  of  1765,  in  as  criti- 
cal and  perilous  a  situation,  as  ever  the  nation  was, 
,  or  could  be,  in  a  time  when  she  was  not  immediately 
threatened  by  her  neighbors. 

It  was  at  this  time,  and  in  these  circumstances, 
that  a  new  administration  was  formed.  Professing 
even  industriously,  in  this  public  inattcr,  to  avoid 
anecdotes ;  I  say  nothing  of  those  famous  reconcilia- 
tions and  quarrels,  which  weakened  tlie  body  that 
should  have  been  tlie  natural  support  of  this  adminis- 
tration. I  run  no  risk  in  affirming,  that,  surrounded 
as  they  were  with  difficidties  of  every  species,  nothing 
but  the  strongest  and  most  uncorrupt  sense  of  their 
duty  to  the  public  could  have  prevailed  upon  some 
of  the  persons  who  composed  it  to  undertake  the 
king's  business  at  such  a  time.  Their  preceding 
character,  their  measures  while  in  power,  and  the  sub- 
sequent conduct  of  many  of  them,  I  think,  leave  no 
room  to  charge  this  assertion  to  flattery.  Having 
undertaken  the  commonwealth,  what  remained  for 
them  to  do  ?  to  piece  their  conduct  upon  the  broken 
chain  of  former  measures  ?  If  they  had  been  so  in- 
clined, the  ruinous  nature  of  those  measures,  whicli 
began  instantly  to  appear,  would  not  have  permitted 
it.  Scarcely  had  they  entered  into  office,  when  let 
ters  arrived  from  all  parts  of  America,  making  loud 
comphiints,  backed  by  strong  reasons,  against  several 
of  the  principal  regulations  of  the  late  ministry,  as 
threatening  destruction  to  many  valuable  branches 
of  commerce,  'riiese  were  attended  with  rej)resen- 
tations  I'lnin  )iiany  merchants  and  caj)ital  manu- 
facturers at  home,  who  had  all  their  interests  in- 
volved in  the  support  of  lawful  trade,  and  in  the  suj>- 
pression  of  every  sort  of  contraband.     Whilst  these 


ON    THE    rr.E^ENT    STATE    OP    THE    NATION.  389 

things  were  under  consideration,  that  conflagration 
blazed  out  at  onco  in  North  America ;  an  universal 
disobedience,  and  open  resistance  to  the  Stamp  Act ; 
and,  in  consequence,  an  universal  stop  to  the  course 
of  justice,  and  to  trade  and  navigation,  throughout 
that  great  important  country ;  an  interval  during 
which  the  trading  interest  of  England  lay  under  the 
most  dreadful  anxiety  which  it  ever  felt. 

The  re])eal  of  that  act  was  proposed.  It  was  much 
too  serious  a  measure,  and  attended  with  too  many 
difficulties  upon  every  side,  for  the  then  ministry  to 
have  undertaken  it,  as  some  paltry  writers  have  as- 
serted, from  envy  and  dislike  to  their  predecessors  in 
office.  As  little  could  it  be  owing  to  personal  cow- 
ardice, and  dread  of  consequences  to  themselves. 
Ministers,  timorous  from  their  attachment  to  place 
and  power,  will  fear  more  from  the  consequences 
of  one  court  intrigue,  than  from  a  thousand  difficul- 
ties to  the  commerce  and  credit  of  their  country  by 
disturbances  at  three  thousand  miles  distance.  From 
which  of  these  the  ministers  had  most  to  apprehend 
at  that  time,  is  known,  I  presume,  universally.  Nor 
did  they  take  that  resolution  from  a  want  of  the  full- 
est sense  of  the  inconveniences  wiiich  must  neces- 
sarily attend  a  measure  of  concession  from  the 
sovereign  to  the  subject.  That  it  must  increase 
the  insolence  of  the  mutinous  spirits  in  America, 
was  but  too  ohvious.  No  great  measure  indeed,  at 
a  very  difficult  crisis,  can  be  pursued,  w^iich  is  noi 
attended  with  some  mischief;  none  but  conceitei 
pretenders  in  public  business  will  hold  any  other 
language  :  and  none  but  weak  and  unexperienced 
men  will  believe  them,  if  they  should.  If  we  were 
found  in  such  a  crisis,  let  those,  whose  bold  designs, 


390  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE    PUBLICATION 

and  whose  defective  arrangements,  brought  us  into 
it,  answer  for  the  consequences.  The  business  of  the 
then  ministry  e\ddently  was,  to  take  such  steps,  not 
as  the  wishes  of  our  author,  or  as  their  own  wishes 
dictated,  but  as  the  bad  situation  in  which  their  pre- 
decessors had  left  them,  absolutely  required. 

The  disobedience  to  this  act  was  universal  through- 
out America ;  nothing,  it  was  evident,  but  the  send- 
ing a  very  strong  military,  backed  by  a  very  strong 
naval  force,  would  reduce  the  seditious  to  obedience. 
To  send  it  to  one  town,  would  not  be  sufficient ; 
every  province  of  America  must  be  traversed,  and 
must  be  subdued.  I  do  not  entertain  the  least 
duubt  but  this  could  be  done.  We  might,  I  think, 
without  much  difficulty,  have  destroyed  our  colonies. 
This  destruction  might  be  effected,  probably  in  a 
year,  or  in  two  at  the  utmost.  If  the  question  was 
upon  a  foreign  nation,  where  every  successful  stroke 
adds  to  your  own  power,  and  takes  from  that  of  a  ri- 
val, a  just  war  with  such  a  certain  superiority  would 
bo  undoubtedly  an  advisable  measure.  But  four  mil- 
Imi  of  debt  due  to  our  merchants,  the  total  cessation 
of  a  trade  annually  worth  four  million  more,  a  large 
foreign  traffic,  mucii  home  manufacture,  a  very  capi- 
tal immediate  revenue  arising  from  colony  imports, 
indeed  the  produce  of  every  one  of  our  revenues 
greatly  dcjjending  on  this  trade,  all  these  were  very 
weighty  accumulated  considerations,  at  least  well  to 
1)0  weighed,  before  that  sword  was  drawn,  which 
even  by  its  victories  must  i)roduce  all  the  evil  efl'ects 
of  tlie  greatest  natioiuil  defeat.  How  public  credit 
must  luive  suffered,  I  need  not  say.  If  the  condition 
of  the  nation,  at  the  chjse  of  our  foreign  war,  was 
what  this  author  represents  it,  such  a  civil  war  would 


ON   THE    PRESENT    STATE    OP   THE    NATION.         391 

nave  been  a  bad  couch,  on  which  to  repose  our  wear 
ried  virtue.  Far  from  being  able  to  have  entered 
into  new  plans  of  economy,  we  must  have  launched 
into  a  new  sea,  I  fear  a  boundless  sea,  of  expense. 
Such  an  addition  of  debt,  with  such  a  diminution  of 
revenue  and  trade,  would  have  left  us  in  no  want  of 
a  "  State  of  the  Nation  "  to  aggravate  the  picture  of 
our  distresses. 

Our  trade  felt  this  to  its  vitals ;  and  our  then  min- 
isters were  not  ashamed  to  say,  that  they  sympa- 
thized with  the  feelings  of  our  merchants.  The 
universal  alarm  of  the  whole  trading  body  of  Eng- 
land, will  never  be  lauglied  at  by  them  as  an  ill- 
grounded  or  a  pretended  panic.  The  universal  desire 
of  that  body  will  always  have  great  weight  with  them 
in  every  consideration  connected  with  commerce  : 
neither  ought  the  opinion  of  that  body  to  be  slighted 
(notwithstanding  the  contemptuous  and  indecent  lan- 
guage of  this  author  and  his  associates)  in  any  con- 
sideration whatsoever  of  revenue.  Nothing  amongst 
us  is  more  quickly  or  deeply  affected  by  taxes  of  any 
kind  than  trade  ;  and  if  an  American  tax  was  a  real 
relief  to  England,  no  part  of  the  community  would 
be  sooner  or  more  materially  relieved  by  it  than  our 
merchants.  But  they  well  know  that  tlie  trade  of 
England  must  be  more  burdened  by  one  penny  raised 
in  America,  than  by  three  in  England  ;  and  if  that 
penny  be  raised  with  the  uneasiness,  the  discontent, 
and  the  confusion  of  America,  more  than  by  ten. 

If  the  opinion  and  wish  of  the  landed  interest  is  a 
motive,  and  it  is  a  fair  and  just  one,  for  taking  away 
a  real  and  large  revenue,  the  desire  of  the  trading  in- 
terest of  England  ought  to  be  a  just  ground  for 
taking  away  a  tax  of  little  better  than  speculation, 


392  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

which  was  to  be  collected  by  a  war,  which  Avas  to  be 
kept  up  with  the  perpetual  discontent  of  those  who 
were  to  be  affected  by  it,  and  the  value  of  whose 
produce  even  after  the  ordinary  charges  of  collec- 
tion, was  very  uncertain ;  *  after  the  extraordinary^ 
the  dearest  purchased  revenue  that  ever  was  made 
by  any  nation. 

These  were  some  of  the  motives  drawn  from  princi- 
ples of  convenience  for  that  repeal.  When  the  object 
came  to  be  more  narrowly  inspected,  every  motive 
concurred.  These  colonies  were  evidently  founded 
in  subservience  to  the  commerce  of  Great  Britain. 
From  this  principle,  the  whole  system  of  our  laws 
concerning  them  became  a  system  of  restriction.  A 
double  monopoly  was  established  on  the  part  of  the 
parent  country;  1.  A  monopoly  of  their  whole  im- 
port, which  is  to  be  altogether  from  Great  Britain  ; 
2.  A  monopoly  of  all  their  export,  which  is  to  be  no- 
where but  to  Great  Britain,  as  far  as  it  can  serve  any 
purpose  here.  On  tlie  same  idea  it  was  contrived 
tliat  tliey  should  send  all  their  products  to  us  raw, 
and  in  their  first  state ;  and  that  they  should  take 
everything  from  us  in  the  last  stage  of  manufacture. 

Were  ever  a  people  under  such  circumstances,  that 
is,  a  people  who  were  to  export  raw,  and  to  receive 
manufactured,  and  this,  not  a  few  luxurious  articles, 
but  all  articles,  even  to  those  of  the  grossest,  most 
vulgar,  and  necessary  consumption,  a  people  who 
were  in  the  hands  of  a   general    monopolist,  were 

*  It  it  obscrviiblc,  that  the  partisans  of  American  taxation,  when 
they  liavc  a  mind  to  re[)resont  this  tax  as  wonderfully  beneficial  to 
Knulund,  state  it  ns  worth  100,000/.  a  year  ;  when  they  are  to  repre- 
gent  it  as  very  li;:lit  on  tht!  Anicricnns,  it  dwindles  to  60,000/.  In- 
deed it  is  very  dilTiciilt  to  eonijiute  what  its  produce  might  have  boon 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    ,^95^ 

ever  such  a  people  suspected  of  a  possibility  of  becom- 
ing a  just  object  of  revenue  ?  All  the  ends  of  tlieir 
foundation  must  be  supposed  utterly  contradicted  be- 
fore they  could  become  such  an  object.  Every  trade 
law  we  have  made  must  have  been  eluded,  and  be- 
come useless,  before  they  could  be  in  such  a  condi- 
tion. 

The  partisans  of  the  new  system,  who,  on  most 
occasions,  take  credit  for  full  as  much  knowledge  as 
tliey  possess,  think  proper  on  this  occasion  to  coun- 
terfeit an  extraordinary  degree  of  ignorance,  and  in 
consequence  of  it  to  assert,  "  that  the  balance  (be- 
tween the  colonies  and  Great  Britain)  is  unknown, 
and  that  no  important  conclusion  can  be  drawn  from 
premises  so  very  uncertain."  *  Now  to  what  can  this 
ignorance  be  owing  ?  were  tlie  navigation  laws  made, 
that  this  balance  should  be  unknown  ?  is  it  from  the 
course  of  exchange  that  it  is  unknown,  which  all  the 
world  knows  to  be  greatly  and  perpetually  against 
the  colonies  ?  is  it  from  the  doubtful  nature  of  the 
trade  we  carry  on  with  the  colonies  ?  are  not  these 
schemists  well  apprised  that  the  colonists,  particularly 
those  of  the  northern  provinces,  import  more  from 
Great  Britain,  ten  times  more,  than  they  send  in  re- 
turn to  us  ?  that  a  great  part  of  their  foreign  balance 
is  and  must  be  remitted  to  London  ?  I  shall  be  ready 
to  admit  that  the  colonies  ought  to  be  taxed  to  the 
revenues  of  this  country,  when  I  know  that  they  are 
out  of  debt  to  its  commerce.  This  author  will  fur- 
nish some  ground  to  his  theories,  and  communicate  a 
discovery  to  the  public,  if  he  can  show  this  by  any 
medium.  But  he  tells  us  that  "  their  seas  are  cov- 
ered with  ships,  and  their  rivers  floating  with  coia- 

*  <'  Considerations,"  p.  74. 


o 


94  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE    PUBLICATION 


merce."  *  This  is  true.  But  it  is  with  our  ships 
that  these  seas  are  covered  ;  and  their  rivers  float  witli 
British  commerce.  The  American  merchants  are 
our  factors  ;  all  in  reality,  most  even  in  name.  The 
Americans  trade,  navigate,  cultivate,  with  English 
capitals  ;  to  their  own  advantage,  to  be  sure ;  for 
without  these  capitals  their  ploughs  would  be  stopped, 
and  their  ships  wind-bound.  But  he  who  furnishes 
the  capital  must,  on  the  whole,  be  the  person  princi- 
pally benefited  ;  the  person  who  works  upon  it  profits 
on  his  part  too  ;  but  he  profits  in  a  subordinate  way, 
as  our  colonies  do ;  that  is,  as  the  servant  of  a  wise 
and  indulgent  master,  and  no  otherwise.  We  have 
all,  except  the  peculium  ;  without  which  even  slaves 
will  not  labor. 

If  the  author's  principles,  which  are  the  common 
notions,  be  right,  that  the  price  of  our  manufactures 
is  so  greatly  enhanced  by  our  taxes  ;  then  the  Amer- 
icans already  pay  in  that  way  a  share  of  our  imposi- 
tions. He  is  not  ashamed  to  assert,  that  "  France 
and  China  may  be  said,  on  the  same  principle,  to 
bear  a  part  of  our  charges,  for  they  consume  our  com- 
modities." f  Was  ever  such  a  method  of  reasoning 
heard  of?  Do  not  the  laws  absolutely  confine  the 
colonies  to  buy  from  us,  whether  foreign  nations  sell 
cheaper  or  not  ?  On  what  other  idea  are  all  our 
prohibitions,  regulations,  guards,  penalties,  and  for- 
feitures, framed  ?  To  secure  to  us,  not  a  commer- 
cial preference,  wiiich  stands  in  need  of  no  penalties 
to  enforce  it;  it  finds  its  own  way  ;  but  to  secure  to 
us  a  trade,  which  is  a  creature  of  law  and  institu- 
tion. What  has  this  to  do  with  the  principles  of  a 
foreign  trade,  which  is  under  no  monopoly,  and  iu 

•  •>  Considuriitions,"  p.  79  t  Ibid.,  p.  74. 


ON    THE    PRESENT    STATE    OF   THE    NATION.         SDo 

which  we  cannot  raise  the  price  of  our  goods,  with- 
out hazarding  the  demand  for  them  ?  None  but  the 
authors  of  such  measures  could  ever  think  of  making 
use  of  such  arguments. 

Whoever  goes  about  to  reason  on  any  part  of  the 
policy  of  this  country  with  regard  to  America,  upon 
the  mere  abstract  principles  of  government,  or  even 
upon  those  of  our  own  ancient  constitution,  will  be 
often  misled.  Those  who  resort  for  arguments  to  the 
most  respectable  authorities,  ancient  or  modern,  or 
rest  upon  the  clearest  maxims,  drawn  from  the  eA 
perience  of  other  states  and  empires,  will  be  liable  to 
the  greatest  errors  imaginable.  The  object  is  wholly 
new  in  the  world.  It  is  singular ;  it  is  grown  up  to 
this  magnitude  and  importance  within  the  memory 
of  man  ;  nothing  in  history  is  parallel  to  it.  All  the 
reasonings  about  it,  that  are  likely  to  be  at  all  solid, 
must  be  drawn  from  its  actual  circumstances.  In 
this  new  system  a  principle  of  commerce,  of  artificial 
commerce,  must  predominate.  This  commerce  must 
be  secured  by  a  multitude  of  restraints  very  ahen 
from  the  spirit  of  liberty ;  and  a  powerful  authority 
must  reside  in  the  principal  state,  in  order  to  enforce 
them.  But  the  people  who  are  to  be  the  subjects  of 
these  restraints  are  descendants  of  Englishmen  ;  and 
of  a  high  and  free  spirit.  To  hold  over  them  a  gov 
ernment  made  up  of  nothing  but  restraints  and  pen- 
alties, and  taxes  in  the  granting  of  which  they  can 
have  no  share,  will  neither  be  wise  nor  long  practica- 
ble. People  must  be  governed  in  a  manner  agreear 
ble  to  their  temper  and  disposition  ;  and  men  of  free 
character  and  spirit  must  be  ruled  with,  at  least, 
some  condescension  to  this  spirit  and  this  character. 
The  British  colonist  must  see  something  which  will 


896  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE    PUBLICATION 

distinguish   him    from    the    colonists    of    other   na- 
tions. 

Those  reasonings,  which  infer  from  the  many  re- 
straints under  which  we  have  ah-eady  laid  America, 
to  our  right  to  lay  it  under  still  more,  and  indeed  un- 
der all  manner  of  restraints,  are  conclusive ;  conclu- 
sive as  to  right ;  but  the  very  reverse  as  to  policy  and 
practice.  We  ought  rather  to  infer  from  our  having 
laid  the  colonies  under  many  restraints,  that  it  is 
reasonable  to  compensate  them  by  every  indulgence 
that  can  by  any  means  be  reconciled  to  our  interest. 
We  have  a  great  empire  to  rule,  composed  of  a  vast 
mass  of  heterogeneous  governments,  all  more  or  less 
free  and  popular  in  their  forms,  all  to  be  kept  in 
peace,  and  kept  out  of  conspiracy,  with  one  another, 
all  to  be  held  in  subordination  to  this  country  ;  while 
the  spirit  of  an  extensive  and  intricate  and  trading 
interest  pervades  the  whole,  always  qualifying,  and 
often  controlling,  every  general  idea  of  constitution 
and  government.  It  is  a  great  and  difficult  object ; 
and  I  wish  we  may  possess  wisdom  and  temper  enough 
to  manage  it  as  we  ought.  Its  importance  is  infinite. 
I  believe  the  reader  will  be  struck,  as  I  have  been, 
with  one  singular  fact.  In  the  year  1704,  but  sixty- 
five  years  ago,  the  whole  trade  with  our  plantations 
was  but  a  few  thousand  pounds  more  in  the  export 
article,  and  a  tliird  less  in  the  import,  than  that 
which  we  now  carry  on  with  the  single  island  of 
Jamaica :  — 

Exports.  Imports. 

Total   English   plantations 

in  1704 X  483,2(55     .     £  814,491 

Jamaica,  17(17     .     .     .  4ti7,(;81     .      1,243,742 

From  the  same  information  I  find  that  our  dealing 


ON    THE   PRESENT    STATE    OF   THE   NATION.         397 

with  most  of  the  European  nations  is  but  little  in- 
creased :  tliese  nations  have  been  pretty  mucli  at  a 
stand  since  that  time,  and  we  have  rivals  in  their 
trade.  This  colony  intercourse  is  a  new  world  of 
commerce  in  a  manner  created  ;  it  stands  upon  prin- 
ciples of  its  own ;  principles  hardly  worth  endanger- 
ing for  any  little  consideration  of  extorted  revenue. 

The  reader  sees,  that  I  do  not  enter  so  fully  into 
this  matter  as  obviously  I  might.  I  have  already 
been  led  into  greater  lengths  than  I  intended.  It  is 
enough  to  say,  that  before  the  ministers  of  1765  had 
determined  to  propose  the  I'epeal  of  the  Stamp  Act  in 
Parliament,  they  had  the  whole  of  the  American  con- 
stitution and  commerce  very  fully  before  them.  They 
considered  maturely  ;  they  decided  with  wisdom  :  let 
me  add,  with  firmness.  For  they  resolved,  as  a  pre- 
liminary to  that  repeal,  to  assert  in  the  fullest  and 
least  equivocal  terms  the  unlimited  legislative  right 
of  this  country  over  its  colonies ;  and,  having  done 
this,  to  propose  the  repeal,  on  principles,  not  of  co]i- 
stitutional  right,  but  on  those  of  expediency,  of  equity, 
of  lenity,  and  of  the  true  interests  present  and  future 
of  that  great  object  for  whicli  alone  the  colonies  were 
founded,  navigation  and  commerce.  This  plan  I  say, 
required  an  uncommon  degree  of  firmness,  when  we 
consider  that  some  of  those  persons  who  miglit  be  of 
the  greatest  use  hi  promoting  the  repeal,  viol-ently 
withstood  the  declaratory  act ;  and  they  who  agreed 
with  administration  in  the  principles  of  that  law, 
equally  made,  as  well  the  reasons  on  which  the  de- 
claratory act  itself  stood,  as  those  on  which  it  was 
opposed,  grounds  for  an  opposition  to  the  repeal. 

If  the  then  ministry  resolved  first  to  declare  the 
right,  it  was  not  from  any  ophiion  they  entertained  of 


398  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

its  future  use  iu  regular  taxation.  Their  opinioiie 
were  full  and  declared  against  the  ordinary  use  of 
such  a  power.  But  it  was  plain,  that  the  general 
reasonings  which  were  employed  against  that  power 
went  directly  to  our  whole  legislative  right ;  and  one 
part  of  it  could  not  be  yielded  to  such  argiiments, 
without  a  virtual  surrender  of  all  the  rest.  Besides, 
if  that  very  specific  power  of  levying  money  in  the 
colonies  were  not  retained  as  a  sacred  trust  in  the 
hands  of  Great  Britain  (to  be  used,  not  in  the  first 
instance  for  supply,  but  in  the  last  exigence  for  con- 
trol), it  is  obvious,  that  the  presiding  authority  of 
Great  Britain,  as  the  head,  the  arbiter,  and  director 
of  the  whole  empire,  would  vanish  into  an  empty 
name,  without  operation  or  energy.  With  the  habit- 
ual exercise  of  such  a  power  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  supply,  no  trace  of  freedom  could  remain  to  Amer- 
ica.* If  Great  Britain  were  stripped  of  this  right, 
every  principle  of  unity  and  subordination  in  the 
empire  was  gone  forever.  Whether  all  this  can  be 
reconciled  in  legal  speculation,  is  a  matter  of  no 
consequence.  It  is  reconciled  in  policy  :  and  politics 
ought  to  be  adjusted,  not  to  human  reasonings,  but 
to  human  nature  ;  of  which  the  reason  is  but  a  part, 
and  by  no  means  the  greatest  part. 

Founding  the  repeal  on  this  basis,  it  was  judged 

*  I  do  not  here  enter  into  the  unsatisfactory  disquisition  concern- 
ing representation  real  or  presumed.  I  only  say,  that  a  great  people 
who  have  their  property,  without  any  reserve,  in  all  cases,  disposed 
of  liy  another  pco|ile,  at  an  immense  distance  from  them,  will  not 
think  themselves  in  Uie  enjoyment  of  freedom.  It  will  be  hard  to 
show  to  those  who  are  in  such  a  state,  which  of  the  usual  parts  of  the 
definition  or  description  of  a  free  ])Coplc  arc  applicable  to, them;  and 
it  is  neither  jilensant  nor  wise  to  attempt  to  ])rovc  that  they  have  no 
right  to  bo  comprehended  in  such  a  description. 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE    OF   THE    NATION.         399 

proper  to  lay  before  Parliament  the  whole  detail  of 
the  American  affairs,  as  fully  as  it  had  been  laid  be- 
fore the  ministry  tliemsclves.  Ignorance  of  those  af- 
fairs had  misled  Parliament.  Knowledge  alone  could 
bring  it  into  the  right  road.  Every  paper  of  office 
was  laid  upon  the  table  of  the  two  Houses ;  every 
denomination  of  men,  either  of  America,  or  connect- 
ed with  it  by  office,  by  residence,  by  commerce,  by 
interest,  even  by  injury ;  men  of  civil  and  military 
capacity,  officers  of  tlie  revenue,  merchants,  manu- 
facturers of  every  species,  and  from  every  town  in 
England,  attended  at  the  bar.  Such  evidence  never 
was  laid  before  Parliament.  If  an  emulation  arose 
among  the  ministers  and  members  of  Parliament,  as 
the  author  rightly  observes,*  for  the  repeal  of  this 
act,  as  well  as  for  the  other  regulations,  it  was  not  on 
the  confident  assertions,  the  airy  speculations,  or  the 
vain  promises  of  ministers,  that  it  arose.  It  was  the 
sense  of  Parliament  on  the  evidence  before  them. 
No  one  so  much  as  suspects  that  ministerial  allure- 
ments or  terrors  had  any  sliare  in  it. 

Our  aiithor  is  very  much  displeased,  that  so  much 
credit  was  given  to  the  testimony  of  merchants.  He 
has  a  habit  of  railing  at  them :  and  he  may,  if  he 
pleases,  indulge  himself  in  it.  It  will  not  do  great 
mischief  to  that  respectable  set  of  men.  The  sub- 
stance of  their  testimony  was,  that  their  debts  in 
America  were  very  great:  that  the  Americans  de- 
clined to  pay  them,  or  to  renew  their  orders,  whilst 
this  act  continued :  that,  under  these  circumstances, 
they  despaired  of  the  recovery  of  their  debts,  or  the 
renewal  of  their  trade  in  that  country :  that  they 
apprehended  a  general  failure  of  mercantile  credit. 

*  rasre  21. 


400  OBSERVATIONS    OX    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

The  manufacturers  deposed  to  the  same  general  pur- 
pose, with  this  addition,  that  many  of  them  had  dis- 
charged several  of  their  artificers  ;  and,  if  the  law 
and  the  resistance  to  it  should  continue,  must  dis- 
miss them  all. 

This  testimony  is  treated  with  great  contempt  by 
our  author.  It  must  be,  I  suppose,  because  it  was 
contradicted  by  the  plain  nature  of  things.  Suppose 
then  that  the  merchants  had,  to  gratify  this  author, 
given  a  contrary  e\idence ;  and  had  deposed,  that 
while  America  remained  in  a  state  of  resistance, 
whilst  four  million  of  debt  remained  unpaid,  whilst 
the  course  of  justice  was  suspended  for  want  of 
stamped  paper,  so  that  no  debt  could  be  recovered, 
whilst  there  was  a  total  stop  to  trade,  because  every 
ship  was  subject  to  seizure  for  want  of  stamped  clear- 
ances, and  while  tlie  colonies  were  to  be  declared  in 
rebeJlion,  and  subdued  by  armed  force,  tliat  in  these 
circumstances  they  would  still  continue  to  trade  cheer- 
fully and  fearlessly  as  before :  would  not  such  wit- 
nesses provoke  universal  indignation  for  their  folly  or 
their  wickedness,  and  be  deservedly  hooted  from  tlie 
bar:*  would  any  human  faith  have  given  credit  to 

*  Here  the  author  has  a  note  altojjothcr  in  his  usual  strain  of  rea- 
soniuf;  ;  lie  linds  out  tliat  somebody,  in  tlie  course  of  this  multifarious 
evidence,  had  saiii,  "  that  a  very  eonsiderahii'  jiart  of  the  orders  of 
1765  transmitted  from  America  had  hoen  afterwards  suspended;  but 
that  in  case  the  Stamp  Act  was  repeaii'd,  those  orders  were  to  he  cx- 
eiMited  in  the  present  year,  1 7CtC> " ;  and  that,  on  the  rei)eal  of  the  Stamp 
Act, "  the  exports  to  the  colonics  would  he  at  Icnst  double  the  value  of 
the  exports  of  the  past  year."  lie  then  triuuiphs  cxceediuf^ly  on 
their  haviu'.'  fallen  short  of  it  on  the  state  of  the  custom-house  entries. 
I  do  not  well  know  what  coiu'lusion  he  draws  applii-ahle  to  his  pur- 
pose from  these  facts.  He  docs  not  deny  that  all  the  orders  wiiich 
came  from  America  sul)se(picnt  to  the  disturbances  of  the  Stamp  Act 
were  on  the  condition  of  that  act  heinf;  repealed ;  and   he  docs  not 


ON   THE    PRESENT    STATE    OF   THE    NATION.         401 

such  assertions  ?  The  testimony  of  the  merchants 
was  necessary  for  the  detail,  and  to  bring  the  matter 
home  to  the  feeling  of  the  House ;  as  to  the  general 
reasons,  they  spoke  abundantly  for  themselves. 

Upon  these  principles  was  the  act  repealed,  and  it 
produced  all  the  good  effect  which  was  expected  from 
it  :  quiet  was  restored ;  trade  generally  returned  to 
its  ancient  channels  ;  time  and  means  were  furnished 
for  the  better  strengthening  of  government  there,  as 
well  as  for  recovering,  by  judicious  measures,  the 
affections  of  the  people,  had  that  ministry  continued, 
or  had  a  ministry  succeeded  with  dispositions  to  im- 
prove that  opportunity. 

assert  that,  notwithstanding  that  act  should  be  enforced  by  a  strong 
hand,  still  the  orders  would  be  executed.  Neither  does  he  quite  ven- 
ture to  say  that  this  decline  of  the  trade  in  1766  was  owing  to  the 
repeal.  What  does  he  therefore  infer  from  it,  favorable  to  the  en- 
forcement of  that  law  1  It  only  comes  to  this,  and  no  more  ;  those 
merchants,  who  thought  our  trade  would  be  doubled  in  the  subse- 
quent year,  were  mistaken  in  their  speculations.  So  that  the  Stamp 
Act  was  not  to  be  repealed  unless  this  speculation  of  theirs  was  a 
probable  event.  But  it  was  not  repealed  in  order  to  double  our  trade 
in  that  year,  as  everybody  knows  (whatever  some  merchants  might 
have  said),  but  lest  in  that  year  we  should  have  no  trade  at  all.  The 
fact  is,  that  during  the  greatest  part  of  the  year  1765,  that  is,  until 
about  the  month  of  October,  when  the  accounts  of  the  disturbances 
came  thick  upon  us,  the  American  trade  went  on  as  usual.  Before 
this  time,  the  Stamp  Act  could  not  affect  it.  Afterwards,  the  mer- 
chants fell  into  a  great  consternation ;  a  general  stagnation  in  trade 
ensued.  But  as  soon  as  it  was  known  that  the  ministry  favored  the 
repeal  of  the  Stamp  Act,  several  of  the  bolder  merchants  ventured  to 
execute  their  orders ;  others  more  timid  hung  back ;  in  this  manner 
the  trade  continued  in  a  state  of  dreadful  fluctuation  between  the  fears 
of  those  who  had  ventured,  for  the  event  of  their  boldness,  and  the 
anxiety  of  those  whose  trade  was  suspended,  until  the  royal  assent 
was  finally  given  to  the  bill  of  repeal.  That  the  trade  of  1766  was 
not  equal  to  that  of  1765,  could  not  be  owing  to  the  repeal ;  it  arose 
VOL.  I.  26 


402  OBSERVATIOXS    ON    A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

Stich  an  administration  did  not  succeed.  Instead 
of  profiting  of  that  season  of  tranquillity,  in  the  very 
next  year  they  chose  to  return  to  measures  of  the 
very  same  nature  with  those  which  had  been  so  sol- 
emnly condemned ;  though  upon  a  smaller  scale. 
The  effects  have  been  correspondent.  America  is 
again  in  disorder;  not  indeed  in  the  same  degree  as 
formerly,  nor  anything  like  it.  Such  good  effects 
have  attended  the  repeal  of  the  Stamp  Act,  that  the 
colonics  have  actually  paid  the  taxes  ;  and  they  have 
sought  their  redress  (upon  however  improper  princi- 

from  quite  different  causes,  of  which  the  author  seems  not  to  be 
aware  :  1st.  Our  conquests  duiing  the  war  had  hiid  open  the  trade 
of  tlie  French  and  Spanish  West  Indies  to  our  colonies  much  more 
largely  than  they  had  ever  enjoyed  it ;  this  continued  for  some  time 
after  the  peace ;  but  at  length  it  was  extremely  contracted,  and  in 
some  places  reduced  to  nothing.  Such  in  ]>articular  was  tlie  state  of 
Jamaica.  On  the  taking  the  Havannah  all  the  stores  of  that  island 
were  emptied  into  that  place,  which  produced  unusual  orders  for 
goods,  for  sujiplying  their  own  consumption,  as  well  as  for  further 
speculations  of  trade.  These  ceasing,  the  trade  stood  on  its  own 
bottom.  This  is  one  cause  of  the  diminished  exj)ort  to  Jamaica ; 
and  not  the  childish  idea  of  the  author,  of  an  impossible  contraband 
from  the  opening  of  the  ports.  —  2nd,  The  war  had  brought  a  great 
inllux  of  cash  into  America,  for  the  pay  and  provision  of  the  troops; 
and  this  an  unnatural  increase  of  trade,  which,  as  its  cause  tailed, 
must  in  some  degree  return  to  its  ancient  and  natural  bounds.  —  3rd, 
Wlien  the  merchants  met  from  all  parts,  and  compared  their  accounts, 
they  were  alarmed  at  the  immensity  of  tlie  debt  due  to  them  from 
America.  They  found  that  the  Americans  liad  over-traded  their 
abilities.  And,  as  they  found  too  that  several  of  them  were  capable 
of  making  tlie  state  of  political  events  an  excuse  for  their  failure  in 
commen'ial  punciuality,  many  of  otu'  merchants  in  some  degree  con- 
tracted their  trade  from  that  moment.  However,  it  is  idle,  in  such 
an  immense  mass  of  tra<le,  so  liable  to  fluctuation,  to  infer  anything 
from  such  a  deficiency  as  one  or  even  two  hundred  thousand  j)()unds. 
In  1707,  when  the  di.sturbancc8  subsided,  this  deficiency  was  made 
up  again. 


ON  THE   PRESENT  STATE   OF   THE  NATION.         403 

pies)  not  in  their  own  violence,  as  formerly;*  but 
in  the  experienced  benignity  of  Parliament.  They 
are  not  easy  indeed,  nor  ever  will  be  so,  under  this 
author's  schemes  of  taxation  ;  but  we  see  no  longer 
the  same  general  fury  and  confusion,  which  attended 
their  resistance  to  the  Stamp  Act.  The  author  may 
rail  at  the  repeal,  and  those  who  proposed  it,  as  he 
pleases.  Those  honest  men  suffer  all  his  obloquy 
with  pleasure,  in  the  midst  of  the  quiet  which  they 
have  been  the  means  of  giving  to  their  country  ;  and 
would  think  his  praises  for  their  perseverance  in  a 
prenicious  scheme,  a  very  bad  compensation  for  the 
disturbance  of  our  peace,  and  the  ruin  of  our  com- 
merce. Whether  the  return  to  the  system  of  1764, 
for  raising  a  revenue  in  America,  the  discontents 
which  have  ensued  in  consequence  of  it,  the  general 
suspension  of  the  assemblies  in  consequence  of  these 
discontents,  the  use  of  the  military  power,  and  the 
new  and  dangerous  commissions  which  now  hang 
over  them,  will  produce  equally  good  effects,  is  great- 
ly to  be  doubted.  Never,  I  fear,  will  this  nation  and 
the  colonies  fall  back  upon  their  true  centre  of  grav- 
ity, and  natural  point  of  repose,  until  the  ideas  of 
1766  are  resumed,  and  steadily  pursued. 

As  to  the  regulations,  a  great  subject  of  the  au- 
thor's accusation,  they  are  of  two  sorts  ;  one  of  a 
mixed  nature,  of  revenue  and  trade  ;  the  other  sim- 
ply relative  to  trade.  With  regard  to  the  former  I 
shall  observe,  that,  in  all  deliberations  concerning 
America,  the  ideas  of  that  administration  were  prin- 
cipally these  ;  to  take  trade  as  the  primary  end,  and 
revenue   but   as   a   very  subordinate   consideration. 

*  The  disturbances  have  been  in  Boston  only ;  and  were  not  in 
consequence  of  the  late  duties. 


404  OBSERVATIONS   ON  A  LATE  PUBLICATION 

Where  trade  was  likely  to  suffer,  they  did  not  hesi 
tate  for  an  instant  to  prefer  it  to  taxes,  whose  prod- 
uce at  best  was  contemptible,  in  comparison  of  the 
object  which  they  might  endanger.  The  other  of 
their  principles  was,  to  suit  the  revenue  to  the  ob- 
ject. Where  the  difficulty  of  collection,  from  the 
nature  of  the  country,  and  of  the  revenue  establish- 
ment, is  so  very  notorious,  it  was  their  policy  to  hold 
out  as  few  temptations  to  smuggling  as  possible,  by 
keeping  the  duties  as  nearly  as  they  could  on  a  bal- 
ance with  the  risk.  On  these  principles  they  made 
many  alterations  in  the  port-duties  of  1764,  both  in 
the  mode  and  in  the  quantity.  The  author  has  not 
attempted  to  prove  them  erroneous.  He  complains 
enough  to  show  that  he  is  in  an  ill-humor,  not  that 
his  adversaries  have  done  amiss. 

As  to  the  regulations  which  were  merely  relative 
to  commerce,  many  were  then  made  ;  and  they  were 
all  made  upon  this  principle,  that  many  of  the  colo- 
nies, and  those  some  of  the  most  abounding  in  people, 
were  so  situated  as  to  have  very  few  means  of  traffic 
witli  this  country.  It  became  therefore  our  interest  to 
let  them  into  as  much  foreign  trade  as  could  be  given 
them  without  interfering  with  our  own ;  and  to  se- 
cure by  every  metliod  the  returns  to  the  mother 
country.  Without  some  such  scheme  of  cidarge- 
ment,  it  was  obvious  that  any  benefit  we  could  expect 
from  these  colonies  must  be  extremely  limited.  Ac- 
cordingly many  facilities  were  given  to  their  trade 
with  the  foreign  jdantations,  and  with  the  southern 
parts  of  Europe.  As  to  the  confining  the  returns  to 
this  country,  administration  saw  the  mischief  and 
folly  of  a  plan  of  indiscriminate  restraint.  They 
applied  their  remedy  to  that  part  where  the  disease 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OP   THE   NATION.         405 

existed,  and  to  that  only :  on  this  idea  they  es- 
tabhshed  regulations,  far  more  likely  to  check  the 
daiiiiorous,  clandestine  trade  with  Hamburg  and 
Holland,  than  this  author's  friends,  or  any  of  their 
predecessors  had  ever  done. 

The  friends  of  the  author  have  a  method  surely  a 
little  whimsical  in  all  this  sort  of  discussions.  They 
liave  made  an  innumerable  multitude  of  commercial 
regulations,  at  which  the  trade  of  England  exclaimed 
with  one  voice,  and  many  of  which  have  been  altered 
on  the  unanimous  opinion  of  that  trade.  Still  they 
go  on,  just  as  before,  in  a  sort  of  droning  panegyric 
on  themselves,  talking  of  these  regulations  as  prodi- 
gies of  wisdom  ;  and,  instead  of  appealing  to  those 
who  are  most  affected  and  the  best  judges,  they  turn 
round  in  a  perpetual  circle  of  their  own  reasonings 
and  pretences  ;  they  hand  you  over  from  one  of  their 
own  pamphlets  to  another :  "  See,"  say  they,  "  this 
demonstrated  in  the  '  Regulations  of  the  Colonies.'  " 
"  See  this  satisfactorily  proved  in  '  The  Considera- 
tions.' "  By  and  by  we  shall  have  another :  "  See 
for  this  '  The  State  of  the  Nation.'  "  I  wish  to  take 
another  method  in  vindicating  the  opposite  system. 
I  refer  to  the  petitions  of  merchants  for  these  regu- 
lations ;  to  their  thanks  when  they  were  obtained ; 
and  to  the  strong  and  grateful  sense  they  have  ever 
since  expressed  of  the  benefits  received  under  that 
administration. 

All  administrations  have  in  their  commercial  reg- 
ulations been  generally  aided  by  the  opinion  of  some 
merchants  ;  too  frequently  by  that  of  a  few,  and  those 
a  sort  of  favorites :  they  have  been  directed  by  the 
opinion  of  one  or  two  merchants,  who  were  to  merit 
in  flatteries,  and  to  be  paid  in  contracts  ;  who  fre- 


406  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

qiientlj  advised,  not  for  the  general  good  of  trade, 
but  for  their  private  advantage.  During  tlie  admin- 
istration of  whicli  this  autlior  complains,  the  meetings 
of  merchants  upon  the  business  of  trade  were  numer- 
ous and  public ;  sometimes  at  the  house  of  the  Mar- 
quis of  Rockingham  ;  sometimes  at  Mr.  Dowdeswell's ; 
sometimes  at  Sir  George  Savile's,  a  house  always  open 
to  every  deliberation  favorable  to  the  liberty  or  the 
commerce  of  his  country.  Nor  were  these  meetings 
confined  to  the  merchants  of  London.  Merchants 
and  manufacturers  were  invited  from  all  the  consid- 
erable towns  in  England.  They  conferred  with  the 
ministers  and  active  members  of  Parliament.  No 
private  views,  no  local  interests  prevailed.  Never 
were  points  in  trade  settled  upon  a  larger  scale  of  in- 
formation. They  who  attended  these  meetings  well 
know  what  ministers  they  were  who  heard  the  mo.  t 
patiently,  who  comprehended  the  most  clearly,  and 
who  provided  the  most  wisely.  Let  then  this  author 
and  his  friends  still  continue  in  possession  of  the 
practice  of  exalting  their  own  abilities,  in  their  pam- 
phlets and  in  the  newspapers.  They  never  will  per- 
suade the  public,  that  the  merchants  of  England 
wore  in  a  general  confederacy  to  sacrifice  their  own 
interests  to  those  of  North  America,  and  to  destroy 
the  vent  of  their  own  goods  in  favor  of  the  manufac- 
tures of  France  and  Holland. 

Had  the  friends  of  this  author  taken  these  means 
of  information,  his  extreme  terrors  of  contraband  in 
the  West  India  islands  would  have  been  greatly  qui- 
eted, and  his  objections  to  the  opening  of  the  ports 
would  have  ceased.  He  would  have  learned,  from 
the  most  satisfactory  analysis  of  the  West  India  trade, 
that  we  have  the  advantage  hi  every  essential  arti- 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    407 

cle  of  it ;  and  that  almost  every  restrictio)i  on  our 
communication  witli  our  neiglibort;  there,  is  a  re- 
striction unfavorable  to  ourselves. 

Such  were  the  principles  that  guided,  and  the  au- 
thority that  sanctioned,  these  regulations.  No  man 
ever  said,  that,  in  th§  multiplicity  of  regvilations  made 
in  the  administration  of  their  predecessors,  none 
were  useful ;  some  certainly  were  so  ;  and  I  defy  the 
author  to  show  a  commercial  regulation  of  that  pe- 
riod, which  he  can  prove,  from  any  authority  except 
his  own,  to  have  a  tendency  beneficial  to  commerce, 
that  has  been  repealed.  So  far  were  that  ministry 
from  being  guided  by  a  spirit  of  contradiction  or  of 
innovation. 

The  author's  attack  on  that  administration,  for 
their  neglect  of  our  claims  on  foreign  powers,  is  by 
much  the  most  astonishing  instance  he  has  given,  or 
that,  I  believe,  any  man  ever  did  give,  of  an  intrepid 
effrontery.  It  relates  to  the  Manilla  ransom  ;  to  the 
Canada  bills  ;  and  to  the  Russian  treaty.  Could  one 
imagine,  that  these  very  things,  which  he  thus  chooses 
to  object  to  others,  have  been  the  principal  subject  of 
charge  against .  his  favorite  ministry  ?  Instead  of 
clearing  them  of  these  charges,  he  appears  not  so 
much  as  to  have  heard  of  them  ;  but  throws  them 
directly  upon  the  administration  which  succeeded  to 
that  of  his  friends. 

It  is  not  always  very  pleasant  to  be  obliged  to  pro- 
duce the  detail  of  this  kind  of  transactions  to  the  pub- 
lic view.  I  will  content  myself  therefore  with  giving 
a  short  state  of  facts,  which,  when  the  author  chooses 
to  contradict,  he  shall  see  proved,  more,  perhaps,  to 
his  conviction,  than  to  his  liking.  The  first  fact  then 
is,  that  the  demand  for  the  Manilla  ransom  had  been 


408  OBSERVATIONS   ON    A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

in  the  author's  favorite  admhiistratioii  so  neglected 
as  to  appear  to  have  been  little  less  than  tacitly  aban 
doned.     At  home,  no  countenar.ee  was  given  to  the 
claimants ;  and  when  it  was  mentioned   in  Parlia- 
ment, the  then  leader  did  not  seem,  at  least,  a  very 
sanguine  advocate  in  favor  of  the  claim.     These  things 
made  it  a  matter  of  no  small  difficulty  to  resume  and 
press  that  negotiation  with  Spain.     However,  so  clear 
was  our  right,  that  the  then  ministers  resolved  to  re- 
vive it ;  and  so  little  time  was  lost,  that  though  that 
administration  was  not  completed  until  the  9th  of 
July,  1765,  on  the  20th  of  the  following  August,  Gen- 
oral  Conway  transmitted  a  strong  and  full  remon- 
strance on  that  subject  to  the  Earl  of  Rochfort.     The 
argument,  on  which  the  court  of  Madrid  most  relied, 
was  the  dereliction  of  that  claim  by  the  preceding 
ministers.     However,  it  was  still  puslied  with  so  much 
vigor,  that  the  Spaniards,  from  a  positive  denial  to 
pay,  offered  to  refer  the  demand  to  arbitration.     That 
proposition  was  rejected  ;  and  the  demand  being  still 
pressed,  there  was  all  the  reason  in  the  world  to  ex- 
pect its  being  brought  to  a  favorable  issue  ;  when  it 
was   thought   proper  to  change  the.  administration. 
Whether  under  their  circumstances,  and  in  the  time 
tliey  continued   in  jiower,  more  could  be  done,  the 
reader  will  judge  ;  who  will  hear  with  astonisluuent 
a  charge  of  remissness  from  those  very  men,  whose 
inactivity,  to  call  it  by  no  worse  a  name,  laid  tlio 
chief  difficnltios  in  the  way  of  the  revived  negotiation. 
As  to  the  Canada  bills,  this  autlior  thinks  proper 
to  assert,  "  that  the  proprietors  found  themselves  un- 
der a  necessity  of  coni[)Ounding  their  demands  u])on 
the  French  court,  and  accepting  terms  which   they 
liad  often  rejected,  and  wbich   the  Earl  of  Halifax 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF   THE   NATION.        409 

had  declared  he  would  sooner  forfeit  his  hand  than 
sign."  *  When  I  know  that  the  Earl  of  Halifax  says 
so,  the  Earl  of  Halifax  shall  have  an  answer ;  but  I 
persuade  myself  that  liis  Lordship  has  given  no  au- 
thority for  this  ridiculous  rant.  In  the  mean  time, 
I  shall  only  speak  of  it  as  a  common  concern  of  that 
ministry. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  I  observe,  that  a  conven- 
tion, for  the  liquidation  of  the  Canada  bills,  was  con- 
cluded under  the  administration  of  1766  ;  when  noth- 
ing was  concluded  under  that  of  the  favorites  of  this 
author. 

2.  This  transaction  was,  in  every  step  of  it,  carried 
on  in  concert  with  the  persons  interested,  and  was 
terminated  to  their  entire  satisfaction.  Tliey  would 
have  acquiesced  perhaps  in  terms  somewhat  lower 
than  those  which  were  obtained.  The  author  is  in- 
deed too  kind  to  them.  He  will,  however,  let  them 
speak  for  themselves,  and  show  what  their  own  opin- 
ion was  of  the  measures  pursued  in  their  favor.f  In 
what  manner  the  execution  of  the  convention  has 
been  since  provided  for,  it  is  not  my  present  business 
to  examine. 

*  Page  24. 

t  "  They  are  Iiappy  in  having  found,  in  your  zeal  for  the  dignity 
of  this  nation,  the  means  of  liquidating  their  claims,  and  of  conclud- 
ing with  the  court  of  France  a  convention  for  the  final  satisfaction 
of  their  demands ;  and  have  given  us  commission,  in  their  names, 
and  on  their  behalf,  most  earnestly  to  entreat  your  acceptance  of  tlicir 
grateful  acknowledgments.  Whether  they  consider  themselves  as 
Britons,  or  as  men  more  particularly  profiting  by  your  generous  and 
spirited  interposition,  they  see  great  reasons  to  be  thankful,  for  having 
been  supported  by  a  minister,  in  whose  public  aifections,  in  whose 
wisdom  and  activity,  botli  the  national  honor,  and  the  interests  of  in- 
dividuals, have  been  at  once  so  well  supported  and  secured." —  Thanks 
of  the  Canada  merchants  to  General  Conway,  London,  April  28, 1766. 


410  OBSERVATIONS    ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

3.  The  proprietors  had  absolutely  despaired  of  be- 
ing paid,  at  any  time,  any  proportion  of  their  de- 
mand, mitil  the  change  of  that  ministry.  The  mer- 
chants were  checked  and  discountenanced ;  they  had 
often  been  told,  by  some  in  authority,  of  the  cheap 
rate  at  which  these  Canada  bills  had  been  procured ; 
yet  the  author  can  talk  of  the  composition  of  them  as 
a  necessity  induced  by  the  change  in  administration. 
They  found  themselves  indeed,  before  that  change, 
under  a  necessity  of  hinting  somewhat  of  bringing 
the  matter  into  Parliament ;  but  they  were  soon  si- 
lenced, and  put  in  mind  of  the  fate  which  the  New- 
foundland business  had  there  met  with.  Nothing 
struck  them  more  than  the  strong  contrast  between 
the  spirit,  and  method  of  proceeding,  of  the  two  ad- 
ministrations. 

4.  The  Earl  of  Halifax  never  did,  nor  could,  re- 
fuse to  sign  this  convention  ;  because  this  convention, 
as  it  stands,  never  was  before  him.* 

The  author's  last  charge  on  that  ministry,  with 
regard  to  foreign  affairs,  is  the  Russian  treaty  of  com- 
merce, which  the  author  thinks  fit  to  assert,  was  con- 
cluded "  on  terms  the  Earl  of  Buckinghamshire  had 
refused  to  accept  of,  and  whicli  liad  been  deemed  by 
former  ministers  disadvantageous  to  the  nation,  and 
by  tlie  merchants  unsafe  and  unprofitable."  f 

Both  the  assertions  in  this  paragraph  are  equally 
groundless.  The  treaty  then  concluded  by  Sir 
George  Macartney  was  not  on  the  terms  wliich  the 
Earl  of  P>uckiiighams]iire  had  refused.  The  Earl 
of  Buckinghamshire  never  did  refuse  terms,  because 

♦  Sec  the  Convention  itself,  printed  by  Owen  and  Harrison,  War- 
wick-liino,  1766;  particularly  tlio  articles  two  and  thirteen, 
t  I'uge  23. 


ON  THE  PRESENT   STATE   OF   THE   NATION.         411 

che  business  never  came  to  the  point  of  refusal,  or 
acceptance ;  all  that  he  did  was,  to  receive  the  Rus- 
sian project  for  a  treaty  of  commerce,  and  to  trans- 
mit it  to  England.  This  was  in  November,  17G4 ; 
and  he  left  Petersburg  the  January  following,  be- 
fore he  could  even  receive  an  answer  from  his  own 
court.  The  conclusion  of  the  treaty  fell  to  his  suc- 
cessor. Whoever  will  be  at  the  trouble  to  compare 
it  with  the  treaty  of  1734,  will,  I  believe,  confess, 
that,  if  the  former  ministers  could  have  obtained 
such  terms,  they  wore  criminal  in  not  accepting 
them. 

But  the  merchants  "  deemed  them  unsafe  and  un 
profitable.  "  What  merchants  ?  As  no  treaty  ever 
was  more  maturely  considered,  so  the  opinion  of  the 
Russia  merchants  in  London  was  all  along  taken ; 
and  all  the  instructions  sent  over  were  in  exact  con- 
formity to  that  opinion.  Our  minister  there  made 
no  step  without  having  previously  consulted  our  mer- 
chants resident  in  Petersburg,  who,  before  the  sign- 
ing of  the  treaty,  gave  the  most  full  and  iinanimous 
testimony  in  its  favor.  In  their  address  to  our  min- 
ister at  that  court,  among  other  things  they  say,  "  It 
may  afford  some  additional  satisfaction  to  your  Excel- 
lency, to  receive  a  public  acknowledgment  of  the  en- 
tire and  unreserved  approbation  of  every  article  in  this 
treaty,  from  us  who  are  so  immediately  and  so  nearly 
concerned  in  its  consequences."  This  was  signed  by 
the  consul-general,  and  every  British  merchant  in 
Petersburg. 

The  approbation  of  those  immediately  concerned  in 
the  consequences  is  nothing  to  this  author.  He  and 
his  friends  have  so  much  tenderness  for  people's  in- 
terests, and  understand  them  so  much  better  than 


412  OBSERVATIONS    ON   A   LATE    PUBLICATION 

they  do  themselves,  that,  whilst  these  politicians  are 
contending  for  the  best  of  possible  terms,  the  claim- 
ants are  obliged  to  go  without  any  terms  at  all. 

One  of  the  first  and  justest  complaints  against  the 
administration  of  the  author's  friends,  was  the  want 
of  vigor  in  their  foreign  negotiations.  Their  imme- 
diate successors  endeavored  to  correct  that  error, 
along  with  others ;  and  there  was  scarcely  a  foreign 
court,  in  which  the  new  spirit  that  had  arisen  was 
not  sensibly  felt,  acknowledged,  and  sometimes  com- 
plained of.  On  their  coming  into  administration, 
they  found  the  demolition  of  Dunkirk  entirely  at 
a  stand :  instead  of  demolition,  they  found  construc- 
tion ;  for  the  French  were  then  at  work  on  the  re- 
pair of  the  jettees.  On  the  remonstrances  of  General 
Conway,  some  parts  of  these  jettees  were  immediately 
destroyed.  The  Duke  of  Richmond  personally  sur- 
veyed the  place,  and  ol)tained  a  fuller  knowledge  of 
its  true  state  and  condition  than  any  of  our  minis- 
ters had  done ;  and,  in  consequence,  had  larger  of- 
fers from  the  Duke  of  Choiseul  than  had  ever  been 
received.  But,  as  these  were  short  of  our  just  ex- 
pectations under  the  treaty,  he  rejected  them.  Our 
then  ministers,  knowing  that,  in  their  administration, 
the  people's  minds  were  set  at  ease  upon  all  the  es- 
sential points  of  public  and  private  liberty,  and  that 
no  project  of  theirs  could  endanger  the  concord  of 
the  empire,  were  under  no  restraint  from  pursuing 
every  just  demand  upon  foreign  nations. 

The  anthor,  towards  the  end  of  this  work,  falls  in- 
to reflections  ui)on  the  state  of  public  morals  in  this 
country :  lie  draws  use  from  this  doctrine,  by  recom- 
mending his  friend  to  the  king  and  the  public,  as  an- 
other Duke  of  Sully  ;  and  he  concludes  the  whole 
pcrlormance  willi  ;i  V(!ry  devout  prayer. 


ON   THE   PRESENT    STATE    OF    THE    NATION.         413 

The  prayers  of  politicians  may  sometimes  be  sin- 
core  ;  and  as  this  prayer  is  in  substance,  that  the  au- 
thor, or  his  friends,  may  be  soon  brought  into  power, 
I  have  great  reason  to  believe  it  is  very  much  from 
the  heart.  It  must  be  owned  too  that  after  he  has 
drawn  such  a  picture,  such  a  shocking  picture,  of  the 
state  of  this  country,  he  has  great  faith  in  thinking 
the  means  he  prays  for  sufficient  to  relieve  us :  after 
the  character  he  has  given  of  its  inhabitants  of  all 
ranks  and  classes,  he  has  great  charity  in  caring 
much  about  them  ;  and  uideed  no  less  hope,  in  being 
of  opinion,  that  such  a  detestable  nation  can  ever  be- 
come the  care  of  Providence.  He  has  not  even  found 
five  good  men  in  our  devoted  city. 

He  talks  indeed  of  men  of  virtue  and  ability.  But 
where  are  his  vien  of  virtue  and  ability  to  be  found  ? 
Are  they  in  the  present  administration  ?  Never  were 
a  set  of  people  more  blackened  by  this  author.  Are 
they  among  the  party  of  those  (no  small  body)  who 
adhere  to  the  system  of  1766  ?  These  it  is  the  great 
purpose  of  this  book  to  calumniate.  Are  they  the 
persons  who  acted  with  his  great  friend,  since  the 
change  in  1762,  to  his  removal  in  1765  ?  Scarcely 
any  of  these  are  now  out  of  employment ;  and  we  are 
in  possession  of  his  desideratum.  Yet  I  think  he 
hardly  means  to  select,  even  some  of  the  highest  of 
them,  as  examples  fit  for  the  reformation  of  a  corrupt 
world. 

He  observes,  that  the  "virtue  of  the  most  exemplary 
prince  that  ever  swayed  a  sceptre  "  can  never  warm 
or  illuminate  the  body  of  his  people,  if  foul  mirrors 
are  placed  so  near  him  as  to  refract  and  dissipate  the 
rays  at  their  first  emanation."  *     Without  observing 

*  Pago  46. 


414  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE  PUBLICATION 

upon  the  propriety  of  this  metaphor,  or  asking  how 
mirrors  come  to  have  lost  their  old  quality  of  reflect- 
iiig,  and  to  have  acquired  that  of  refracting,  and  dissi- 
pating rays,  and  how  far  their  foulness  will  account 
for  this  change ;  tlie  remark  itself  is  common  and 
true  :  no  less  true,  and  equally  surprising  from  him, 
is  that  which  immediately  precedes  it :  "  It  is  in  vain 
to  endeavor  to  check  the  progress  of  irreligion  and 
licentiousness,  by  punishing  such  crimes  in  one  indi- 
vidual, if  others  equally  culpable  are  rewarded  with 
the  honors  and  emoluments  of  the  state."  *  I  am 
not  in  the  secret  of  the  author's  manner  of  writing ; 
but  it  appears  to  me,  that  he  must  intend  these  reflec- 
tions as  a  satire  upon  the  administration  of  his  happy 
years.  Were  ever  the  honors  and  emoluments  of  the 
state  more  lavishly  squandered  upon  persons  scanda- 
lous in  their  lives  than  during  that  period  ?  In  these 
scandalous  lives,  was  there  anything  more  scandalous 
than  the  mode  of  punishing  one  cnlpahU  individual? 
In  that  individual,  is  anything  more  euljiable  than 
his  ha%ing  been  seduced  by  the  example  of  some  of 
those  very  persons  by  whom  lie  Avas  thus  persecuted  ? 
The  author  is  so  eager  to  attack  others,  that  ho  pro- 
vides but  indifferently  for  his  own  defence.  I  believe, 
without  going  beyond  the  page  I  have  now  before  me, 
he  is  very  sensible,  that  I  have  sufficient  matter  of 
further,  and,  if  possible,  of  heavier  cliarge  against  his 
friends,  upon  his  own  principle.  But  it  is  because 
tbo  advantage  is  too  great,  that  I  decline  making  use 
of  it.  I  Avish  the  author  had  not  (bought  that  all 
methods  are  lawful  in  ])arty.  Above  all  he  ought  to 
have  taken  care  not  to  wound  his  enemies  through 
the  sides  of  his  country.     Tiiis  lie  has  done,  by  mak- 

•  Page  46. 


ON  THE  PRESENT   STATE   OP   THE   NATION.         41o 

ing  that  monstrous  and  overcharged  picture  of  the 
distresses  of  our  situation.  No  wonder  that  he,  who 
finds  this  country  in  the  same  condition  with  that  of 
France  at  the  time  of  Henry  the  Fourth,  could  also 
find  a  resemblance  between  his  political  friend  and 
the  Dulce  of  Sully.  As  to  those  personal  resem- 
blances, people  will  often  judge  of  them  from  their 
affections :  they  may  imagine  in  these  clouds  whatso- 
ever figures  they  please ;  but  what  is  the  conforma.- 
tion  of  that  eye  which  can  discover  a  resemblance  of 
this  country  and  these  times  to  those  with  which  the 
author  compares  them  ?  France,  a  country  just  re- 
covered out  of  twenty-five  years  of  the  most  cruel  and 
desolating  civil  war  that  perhaps  was  ever  known. 
The  kingdom,  under  the  veil  of  momentary  quiet, 
full  of  the  most  atrocious  political,  operating  upon 
the  most  furious  fanatical  factions.  Some  pretenders 
even  to  the  crown  ;  and  those  who  did  not  pretend  to 
the  whole,  aimed  at  the  partition  of  the  monarchy. 
There  were  almost  as  many  competitors  as  provinces  ; 
and  all  abetted  by  the  greatest,  the  most  ambitious, 
and  most  enterprising  power  in  Europe.  No  place 
safe  from  treason  ;  no,  not  the  bosoms  on  which  the 
most  amiable  prince  that  ever  lived  reposed  his  head  ; 
not  his  mistresses ;  not  even  his  queen.  As  to  the 
finances,  they  had  scarce  an  existence,  but  as  a  mat- 
ter of  plunder  to  the  managers,  and  of  grants  to  insa- 
tiable and  ungrateful  courtiers. 

How  can  our  author  have  the  heart  to  describe  this 
as  any  sort  of  parallel  to  our  situation  ?  To  be  sure, 
an  April  shower  has  some  resemblance  to  a  water- 
spout ;  for  they  are  both  wet :  and  there  is  some  like- 
ness between  a  summer  evening's  breeze  and  a  hurri- 
cane ;  they  are  both  wind  :  but  who  can  compare  our 


416  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE    PUBLICATION 

disturbances,  our  situation,  or  our  finances,  to  those 
of  France  in  the  time  of  Henry?  Great  Britain  is 
indeed  at  this  time  wearied,  but  not  broken,  with  the 
efforts  of  a  victorious  foreign  war ;  not  sufficiently 
relieved  by  an  inadequate  peace,  but  somewhat  bene- 
fited by  that  peace,  and  infinitely  by  the  conse- 
quences of  that  war.  The  powers  of  Europe  awed 
by  owY  victories,  and  lying  in  ruins  upon  every  side 
of  us.  Burdened  indeed  we  are  with  debt,  but 
abounding  with  resources.  We  have  a  trade,  not 
perhaps  equal  to  our  wishes,  but  more  than  ever  we 
possessed.  In  effect,  no  pretender  to  the  crown  ;  nor 
nutriment  for  such  desperate  and  destructive  factions 
as  have  formerly  shaken  this  kingdom. 

As  to  our  finances,  the  author  trifles  with  us. 
When  Sully  came  to  those  of  France,  in  what  order 
was  any  part  of  the  financial  system  ?  or  what  sys- 
tem was  there  at  all?  There  is  no  man  in  office  who 
must  not  be  sensible  tliat  ours  is,  without  the  act  of 
any  parading  minister,  the  most  regular  and  orderly 
system  perhaps  that  was  ever  known ;  the  best  se- 
cured against  all  frauds  in  the  collection,  and  all  mis- 
application in  the  expenditure  of  public  money. 

I  admit  that,  in  this  flourishing  state  of  things, 
there  are  appearances  enough  to  excite  uneasiness 
and  apprehension.  I  admit  there  is  a  cankerworm 
in  the  rose : 

Medio  de  fontc  loporntn 
Siir).Nt  ninari  aliquid,  quod  in  ipsis  floribus  aiigat. 

This  is  notbiiig  else  than  a  spirit  of  disconnection, 
of  distrust,  Mild  of  treacliery  among  public  men.  It 
is  no  accidental  evil,  nor  has  its  elVc-ct  been  trusted  to 
the  usual  fraiU y  <A'  nat  urc- ;  the  distemper  has  been 
inoculated.     Tlie  author  is  sensible  of  it,  and  we  la- 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF  THE   NATION.         417 

ment  it  together.  This  distemper  is  alone  sufficient 
to  take  away  considerably  from  the  benefits  of  our 
constitution  and  situation,  and  perhaps  to  render 
their  continuance  precarious.  If  these  e\il  disposi- 
tions should  spread  much  farther,  they  must  end  in 
our  destruction  ;  for  nothing  can  save  a  people  des- 
titute of  public  and  private  faith.  However,  the 
author,  for  the  present  state  of  things,  has  extended 
the  charge  by  much  too  widely ;  as  men  are  but  too 
apt  to  take  the  measure  of  all  mankind  from  their 
own  particular  acquaintance.  Barren  as  this  age 
may  be  in  the  growth  of  honor  and  virtue,  the  coun- 
try does  not  want,  at  this  moment,  as  strong,  and 
those  not  a  few  examples,  as  were  ever  known,  of  an 
unshaken  adherence  to  principle,  and  attachment 
to  connection,  against  every  allurement  of  interest. 
Those  examples  are  not  furnished  by  the  great  alone  ; 
nor  by  those,  whose  activity  in  public  affairs  may 
render  it  suspected  that  they  make  such  a  character 
one  of  the  rounds  in  their  ladder  of  ambition  ;  but  by 
men. more  quiet,  and  more  in  the  shade,  on  whom  an 
immixed  sense  of  honor  alone  could  operate.  Such 
examples  indeed  are  not  furnished  in  great  abun- 
dance amongst  those  who  are  the  subjects  of  the  au 
thor's  panegyric.  He  must  look  for  them  in  another 
camp.  He  who  complains  of  the  ill  effects  of  a  divid- 
ed and  heterogeneous  administration,  is  not  justifi- 
able in  laboring  to  render  odious  in  the  eyes  of  the 
public  those  men,  whose  principles,  whose  maxims 
of  policy,  and  whose  personal  character,  can  alone 
administer  a  remedy  to  this  capital  evil  of  the  age : 
neither  is  he  consistent  with  himself,  in  constantly 
extolling  those  whom  lie  knows  to  be  the  authors  of 
the  very  miscliicf  of  which  he  complains,  and  which 
the  whole  nation  feels  so  deeply. 

VOL.  I.  27 


413  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

The  persons  who  are  the  objects  of  his  dislike  and 
complaint  are  many  of  them  of  the  first  families,  and 
weightiest  properties,  in  the  kingdom  '.  but  infinitely 
more  distinguished  for  their  untainted  honor,  public 
and  private,  and  their  zealous,  but  sober  attachment 
to  tile  constitution  of  their  country,  than  they  can 
be  by  any  birth,  or  any  station.  If  they  are  the 
friends  of  any  one  great  man  rather  than  another, 
it  is  not  that  they  make  his  aggrandizement  the  end 
of  their  union  ;  or  because  they  know  him  to  be  the 
most  active  in  caballing  for  his  connections  the  largest 
and  speediest  emoluments.  It  is  because  they  know 
him,  by  personal  experience,  to  have  wise  and  en- 
larged ideas  of  the  public  good,  and  an  invincible 
constancy  in  adhering  to  it ;  because  they  are  con- 
vinced, by  the  whole  tenor  of  his  actions,  that  he  will 
never  negotiate  away  their  honor  or  his  own  :  and 
that,  in  or  out  of  power,  change  of  situation  will 
make  no  alteration  in  his  conduct.  This  will  give 
to  such  a  person  in  such  a  body,  an  aiithority  and 
respect  that  no  minister  ever  enjoyed  among  his  ve- 
nal dependents,  in  the  highest  plenitude  of  his  power  ; 
suclT*«.as  servility  never  can  give,  such  as  ambition 
never  can  receive  or  relish. 

This  l)ody  will  often  be  reproached  by  tlieir  adversa- 
ries, for  want  of  ability  in  their  polittcal  transactions  ; 
tlicy  will  be  ridiculed  for  missing  many  favorable  con- 
junctures, and  not  profiting  of  several  brilliant  oppor- 
tunities of  fortune  ;  but  they  must  be  contented  to 
endure  that  reproacli  ;  for  (hey  cannot  acquire  tlie 
reputation  of  that  kind  of  :il)ility  wilhout  losing  all 
the  other  reputation  they  possess. 

They  will  Ik;  charged  too  with  a  dangerous  spirit 
of  exclusion  and   proscription,  for  being  unwilling  to 


ON   THE  PRESENT   STATE   OP  THE  NATION.         419 

m'x  in  schemes  of  administration,  which  have  no 
bond  of  union,  or  principle  of  confidence.  That 
charge  too  thej  must  suffer  with  patience.  If  the 
reason  of  the  thing  had  not  spoken  loudly  enough, 
the  miserable  examples  of  the  several  administra- 
tions constructed  upon  the  idea  of  systematic  discord 
would  be  enough  to  frigliten  them  from  such  mon- 
strous and  ruinous  conjunctions.  It  is  however  false, 
that  the  idea  of  an  united  administration  carries  with 
it  that  of  a  proscription  of  any  other  party.  It  does 
indeed  imply  the  necessity  of  having  the  great  strong- 
holds of  government  in  well-united  hands,  in  order 
to  secure  the  predominance  of  right  and  uniform  prin- 
ciples ;  of  having  the  capital  offices  of  deliberation 
and  execution  of  those  who  can  deliberate  with  mu- 
tual confidence,  and  who  will  execute  what  is  re- 
solved with  firmness  and  fidelity.  If  this  system 
cannot  be  rigorously  adhered  to  in  practice,  (and 
what  system  can  be  so  ?)  it  ought  to  be  the  constant 
aim  of  good  men  to  approach  as  nearly  to  it  as  possi- 
ble. No  system  of  that  kind  can  be  formed,  which 
will  not  leave  room  fully  sufficient  for  healing  coali- 
tions :  but  no  coalition,  which,  under  the  specious 
name  of  independency,  carries  in  its  bosom  the  un- 
reconciled principles  of  the  original  discord  of  parties, 
ever  was,  or  will  be,  an  healing  coalition.  Nor  will 
the  mind  of  our  sovereign  ever  know  repose,  his  king- 
dom settlement,  or  his  business  order,  efficiency,  or 
grace  with  his  people,  until  things  are  established 
upon  the  basis  of  some  sot  of  men,  who  are  trusted 
by  the  public,  and  who  can  trust  one  another. 

This  comes  rather  nearer  to  the  mark  than  the 
author's  description  of  a  proper  administration,  un- 
der the  name  of  men  of  ability  and  virtue,  which 


420  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

conveys  no  definite  idea  at  all ;  nor  does  it  apply 
specifically  to  our  grand  national  distemper.  All 
parties  pretend  to  these  qualities.  The  present  min- 
istry, no  favorites  of  the  author,  will  he  ready  enough 
to  declare  themselves  persons  of  virtue  and  ability  ; 
and  if  they  choose  a  vote  for  that  purpose,  perhaps 
it  would  not  be  quite  impossible  for  them  to  procure 
it.  But,  if  the  disease  be  this  distrust  and  discon- 
nection, it  is  easy  to  know  who  are  sound  and  who 
are  tainted  ;  who  are  fit  to  restore  us  to  health,  who 
to  continue,  and  to  spread  the  contagion.  The  pres- 
ent ministry  being  made  up  of  draughts  from  all 
parties  in  the  kingdom,  if  they  should  profess  any 
adherence  to  the  connections  they  have  left,  they 
must  convict  themselves  of  the  blackest  treachery. 
They  therefore  choose  rather  to  renounce  the  prin- 
ciple itself,  and  to  brand  it  with  the  name  of  pride 
and  faction.  This  test  with  certainty  discriminates 
the  opinions  of  men.  Tlie  other  is  a  description 
vague  and  unsatisfactory. 

As  to  the  unfortunate  gentlemen  who  may  at  any 
time  compose  that  system,  which,  under  the  plausi- 
ble title  of  an  administration,  subsists  but  for  the 
establishment  of  weakness  and  confusion  ;  they  fall 
into  dilfcrcnt  classes,  with  different  merits.  I  think 
the  situation  of  some  people  in  that  state  may  deserve 
a  certain  degree  of  compassion  ;  at  the  same  time  that 
they  furnish  an  example,  which,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  by 
being  a  severe  one,  will  have  its  effect,  at  least,  on 
the  growing  generation  ;  ifini  original  seduction,  on 
])lausiblc  but,  liollow  jtrctences,  into  loss  of  lionor, 
frifMidship,  consistency,  security,  and  repose,  can  fur- 
nish it.  It  is  po^sibU;  to  drnw,  even  from  the  very 
prosperity  of  ambition,  cxanijtles  of  terror,  and  mo- 
tives to  compassion. 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE   OP  THE   NATION.         421 

I  believe  the  instances  are  exceedingly  rare  of  men 
immediately  passing  over  a  clear,  marked  line  of  vir- 
tue into  declared  vice  and  corruption.  Tliere  are  a 
sort  of  middle  tints  and  shades  between  the  two  ex- 
tremes ;  there  is  something  uncertain  on  the  confines 
of  the  two  empires  which  they  first  pass  through,  and 
vrhich  renders  tlie  change  easy  and  imperceptible. 
There  are  even  a  sort  of  splendid  impositions  so  well 
contrived,  that,  at  the  very  time  tlie  path  of  rectitude 
is  quitted  forever,  men  seem  to  be  advancing  into 
some  higher  and  nobler  road  of  public  conduct.  Not 
that  such  impositions  are  strong  enough  in  them- 
selves ;  but  a  powerful  interest,  often  concealed  from 
those  whom  it  affects,  works  at  the  bottom,  and  se- 
cures the  operation.  Men  are  thus  debauched  away 
from  those  legitimate  connections,  which  they  had 
formed  on  a  judgment,  early  perhaps,  but  sufficiently 
mature,  and  wholly  unbiassed.  They  do  not  quit 
them  upon  any  ground  of  complaint,  for  grounds  of 
just  complaint  may  exist,  but  upon  the  flattering 
and  most  dangerous  of  all  principles,  that  of  mend- 
ing what  is  well.  Gradually  they  are  habituated  to 
other  company  ;  and  a  change  in  their  habitudes 
soon  makes  a  way  for  a  change  in  their  opinions. 
Certain  persons  are  no  longer  so  very  frightful,  when 
thev  come  to  be  known  and  to  be  serviceable.  As  to 
their  old  friends,  the  transition  is  easy  ;  from  friend- 
ship to  civility  ;  from  civility  to  enmity :  few  are  the 
steps  from  dereliction  to  persecution. 

People  not  very  well  grounded  hi  the  principles 
of  public  morality  find  a  set  of  maxims  in  oflice  ready 
made  for  them,  which  they  assume  as  naturally  and 
inevitably,  as  any  of  the  insignia  or  instruments  of 
the  situation.     A  certain  tone  of  the  solid  and  prac- 


422  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

tical  is  immediately  acquired.  Every  former  profes- 
sion of  public  spirit  is  to  be  considered  as  a  debauch 
of  youth,  or,  at  best,  as  a  visionary  scheme  of  unat- 
tainable perfection.  The  very  idea  of  consistency  is 
exploded.  The  convenience  of  the  business  of  the 
day  is  to  furnish  the  prhiciple  for  doing  it.  Then 
the  whole  ministerial  cant  is  quickly  got  by  heart. 
The  prevalence  of  faction  is  to  be  lamented.  All 
opposition  is  to  be  regarded  as  the  effect  of  envy  and 
disappointed  ambition.  All  administrations  are  de- 
clared to  be  alike.  The  same  necessity  justifies  all 
their  measures.  It  is  no  longer  a  matter  of  discus- 
sion, who  or  what  administration  is  ;  but  that  admin- 
istration is  to  be  suj)ported,  is  a  general  maxim.  Flat- 
tering themselves  that  their  power  is  become  necessary 
to  the  support  of  all  order  and  government ;  every- 
thing which  tends  to  the  support  of  that  power  is 
sanctified,  and  becomes  a  part  of  the  public  interest. 

Growing  every  day  more  formed  to  affairs,  and  bet- 
ter knit  in  their  limbs,  when  the  occasion  (now  the 
only  rule)  requires  it,  they  become  capable  of  sacri- 
ficing those  very  persons  to  whom  they  had  before 
sacrificed  their  original  friends.  It  is  now  only  in 
the  ordinary  course  of  business  to  alter  an  opinion, 
or  to  betray  a  connection.  Frequently  relinquishing 
one  set  of  men  and  adopting  another,  they  grow  into 
a  total  indifference  to  human  feeling,  as  they  had 
before  to  moral  ol)ligation  ;  until  at  length,  no  one 
original  impression  remains  upon  their  minds  :  every 
■priiiciplo  is  obliterated  ;  every  sentiment  effaced. 

In  the  mean  time,  that  power,  wliich  all  those 
changes  aimed  at  securing,  remains  still  as  tottering 
and  as  uncertain  as  ever.  They  are  delivered  up 
iiito  the  hands  of  tliose  who  feel  neitlier  respect  for 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE   OF  THE   NATION.         423 

their  persons,  nor  gratitude  for  their  favors  ;  who 
are  put  about  them  in  appearance  to  serve,  in  reality 
to  govern  them  ;  and,  when  the  signal  is  given,  to 
abandon  and  destroy  them  in  order  to  set  up  some 
new  dupe  of  ambition,  who  in  his  turn  is  to  be  aban- 
doned and  destroyed.  Thus  living  in  a  state  of  con- 
tinual uneasiness  and  ferment,  softened  only  by  the 
miserable  consolation  of  giving  now  and  then  prefer- 
ments to  those  for  whom  they  have  no  value ;  they 
are  unhappy  in  their  situation,  yet  find  it  impossible 
to  resign.  Until,  at  length,  soured  in  temper,  and 
disappointed  by  the  very  attainment  of  their  ends,  in 
some  angry,  in  some  haughty,  or  some  negligent  mo- 
ment, they  incur  the  displeasure  of  those  upon  whom 
they  have  rendered  their  very  being  dependent.  Then 
perierunt  tempora  lo7igi  servitii ;  they  are  cast  oflf 
with  scorn ;  they  are  turned  out,  emptied  of  all  nat- 
ural character,  of  all  intrinsic  worth,  of  all  essential 
dignity,  and  deprived  of  every  consolation  of  friend- 
ship. Having  rendered  all  retreat  to  old  principles 
ridiculous,  and  to  old  regards  impracticable,  not  be- 
ing able  to  counterfeit  pleasure,  or  to  discharge  dis- 
content, nothing  being  sincere,  or  right,  or  balanced 
in  their  minds,  it  is  more  than  a  chance,  that,  in  the 
delirium  of  the  last  stage  of  their  distempered  power, 
they  make  an  insane  political  testament,  by  which 
they  throw  all  their  remaining  weight  and  conse- 
quence into  the  scale  of  their  declared  enemies,  and 
the  avowed  authors  of  their  destruction.  Thus  they 
finish  their  course.  Had  it  been  possible  that  the 
whole,  or  even  a  great  part  of  these  effects  on  their 
minds,  I  say  nothing  of  the  effect  upon  their  fortunes, 
could  have  appeared  to  them  in  their  first  departure 
from  the  right  line,  it  is  certain  they  would  have  re- 


424  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A  LATE  PUBLICATION 

jected  every  temptation  witli  horror.  The  principle 
of  these  remarks,  like  every  good  principle  in  moral- 
ity, is  ti'itc ;  but  its  frequent  application  is  not  the 
less  necessary. 

As  to  others,  who  are  plain  practical  men,  they 
have  been  guiltless  at  all  times  of  all  public  pretence. 
Neither  the  author  nor  any  one  else  has  reason  to  be 
angry  with  them.  They  belonged  to  his  friend  for 
their  interest;  for  their  interest  they  quitted  him; 
and  when  it  is  their  interest,  he  may  depend  upon  it, 
they  will  return  to  their  former  connection.  Such 
people  subsist  at  all  times,  and,  though  the  nuisance 
of  all,  are  at  no  time  a  worthy  subject  of  discussion. 
It  is  false  virtue  and  plausible  error  that  do  the  mis- 
chief. 

If  men  come  to  government  with  right  dispositions, 
they  have  not  that  unfavorable  subject  which  this  au- 
thor represents  to  work  upon.  Our  circumstances 
are  indeed  critical ;  but  then  they  are  the  critical 
circumstances  of  a  strong  and  mighty  nation.  If 
corruption  and  meanness  are  greatly  spread,  they  are 
not  spread  universally.  Many  public  men  are  hith- 
erto examples  of  public  spirit  and  integrity.  Whole 
parties,  as  far  as  large  bodies  can  be  uniform,  have 
preserved  character.  However  they  may  be  deceived 
in  some  particulars,  I  know  of  no  set  of  men  amongst 
us,  which  docs  not  contain  persons  on  whom  the  na- 
tion, in  a  dilhcult  exigence,  may  well  value  itself. 
Private  life,  which  is  tlic  nursery  of  tlio  common- 
wealth, is  yet  in  general  pure,  and  on  the  wliolc  dis 
posed  to  virtue  ;  and  the  people  at  large  want  neither 
generosity  nor  spirit.  No  small  part  of  that  very 
luxury,  which  is  so  nnich  the  subject  of  Uio  author's 
declamation,  Itut  wliich,  in   most  parts  of  life,  by  be- 


ON   THE   PRESENT   STATE    OF    THE    NATION.         42.') 

ing  well  balanced  and  diffused,  is  only  decency  and 
convenience,  has  perhaps  as  many,  or  more  good  than 
evil  consequences  attending  it.  It  certainly  excites  in- 
dustry, nourishes  emulation,  and  inspires  some  sense 
of  personal  value  into  all  ranks  of  people.  What  we 
want  is  to  establish  more  fully  an  opinion  of  uniform- 
ity, and  consistency  of  character,  in  the  leading  men 
of  the  state ;  such  as  will  restore  some  confidence  to 
profession  and  appearance,  such  as  will  fix  subordi- 
nation upon  esteem.  Without  this,  all  schemes  are 
begun  at  the  wrong  end.  All  who  join  in  them  are 
liable  to  their  consequences.  All  men  who,  imder 
Avhatever  pretext,  take  a  part  in  the  formation  or  the 
support  of  systems  constructed  in  such  a  manner  as 
must,  in  their  nature,  disable  them  from  the  execu- 
tion of  their  duty,  have  made  themselves  guilty  of  all 
the  present  distraction,  and  of  the  future  ruin,  which 
they  may  bring  upon  their  country. 

It  is  a  serious  affair,  this  studied  disunion  in  gov- 
ernment. In  cases  where  union  is  most  consulted  in 
the  constitution  of  a  ministry,  and  where  persons  are 
best  disposed  to  promote  it,  differences,  from  the  va- 
rious ideas  of  men,  will  arise ;  and  from  their  pas- 
sions will  often  ferment  into  violent  heats,  so  as 
greatly  to  disorder  all  public  business.  What  must 
be  the  consequence,  when  the  very  distemper  is  made 
the  basis  of  the  constitution  ;  and  the  original  weak- 
ness of  human  nature  is  still  further  enfeebled  by  art 
and  contrivance  ?  It  must  subvert  government  from 
the  very  foundation.  It  turns  our  public  councils 
into  the  most  mischievous  cabals  ;  where  the  consid- 
eration is,  not  how  the  nation's  business  shall  be  car- 
ried on,  but  how  those  who  ought  to  carry  it  on  shall 
circumvent  each  other.     In  sucli  a  state  of  things,  no 


426  OBSEKVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

order,  uniformity,  dignity,  or  effect,  can  appear  in  our 
proceedings,  either  at  home  or  abroad.  Nor  will  it 
make  much  difference,  wliether  some  of  the  constitu- 
ent parts  of  such  an  administration  are  men  of  vir- 
tue or  ability,  or  not ;  supposing  it  possible  that  such 
men,  with  their  eyes  open,  should  choose  to  make  a 
part  in  such  a  body. 

The  effects  of  all  human  contrivances  are  in  the 
hand  of  Providence.  I  do  not  like  to  answer,  as  our 
author  so  readily  does,  for  the  event  of  any  specula- 
tion. But  surely  the  nature  of  our  disorders,  if  any- 
thing, must  indicate  the  proper  remedy.  Men  who 
act  steadily  on  the  principles  I  have  stated  may  in  all 
events  be  very  serviceable  to  their  country  ;  in  one 
case,  by  furnishing  (if  their  sovereign  should  be  so 
advised)  an  administration  formed  upon  ideas  very 
different  from  those  which  have  for  some  time  been 
unfortunately  fashionable.  But,  if  this  should  not  be 
the  case,  they  may  be  still  serviceable  ;  for  the  ex- 
ample of  a  large  body  of  men,  steadily  sacrificing  am- 
bition to  principle,  can  never  be  without  use.  It  will 
certainly  be  prolific,  and  draw  others  to  an  imitation. 
Vera  gloria  radices  agit,  atque  etiani  propagatiir. 

I  do  not  think  myself  of  consequence  enough  to  im- 
itate my  author,  in  troubling  the  world  with  the 
prayers  or  wishes  I  may  form  for  the  public :  full  as 
little  am  I  disposed  to  imitate  his  professions ;  those 
professions  are  long  shice  worn  out  in  the  political 
service.  If  tlie  work  will  not  speak  for  the  author, 
his  own  declarations  deserve  but  little  credit. 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OP  THE  NATION.    427 


APPENDIX. 


O  0  much  misplaced  industry  has  been  used  by  the 
O  author  of"  The  State  of  the  Nation,"  as  well  as 
by  other  writers,  to  infuse  discontent  into  the  people, 
on  account  of  the  late  war,  and  of  the  effects  of  our 
national  debt ;  that  nothing  ought  to  be  omitted  which 
may  tend  to  disabuse  the  public  upon  these  subjects. 
"When  I  had  gone  through  the  foregoing  sheets,  I  rec- 
ollected, that,  in  pages  58,  59,  60,  I  only  gave  the 
comparative  states  of  the  duties  collected  by  the  ex- 
cise at  large  ;  together  with  the  quantities  of  strong 
beer  brewed  in  the  two  periods  which  are  there  com- 
pared. It  might  be  still  thought,  that  some  other  ar- 
ticles of  popular  consumption,  of  general  convenience, 
and  connected  with  our  manufactures,  might  possibly 
have  declined.  I  therefore  now  think  it  right  to  lay 
before  the  reader  the  state  of  the  produce  of  three  cap- 
ital duties  on  such  articles ;  duties  which  have  fre- 
quently been  made  the  subject  of  popidar  complaint. 
The  duty  on  candles ;  that  on  soap,  paper,  &c.;  and 
that  on  hides. 

Average  of  net  produce  of  duty  on  soap. 

&c.,  for  eight  years  ending  1767       .     .  £  264,902 
Average  of  ditto  for  eight  years  ending 

1754 228,114 

Average  increase    .     .     £  36,788 


428  OBSERVATIONS   ON   A   LATE   PUBLICATION 

Average  of  net  produce  of  duty  on  can- 
dles for  eight  years  ending  1767  .     .     .  £  155,789 

Average  of  ditto  for  eight  years  ending 
1754 136,716 

Average  increase     .     .     £  19,073 

Average   net  produce  of  duty  on  hides, 

eight  years,  ending  1767  .     .     .     .  £  189,216 

Ditto  eight  years,  ending  1754    ....       168,200 

Average  increase     .     .     X  21,016 

This  increase  has  not  arisen  from  any  additional  du- 
ties. None  have  been  imposed  on  these  articles  dur- 
ing the  war.  Notwithstanding  the  burdens  of  the 
war,  and  the  late  dearness  of  provisions,  the  con- 
sumption of  all  these  articles  has  increased,  and  the 
revenue  along  with  it. 

There  is  another  point  in  "  The  State  of  the  Na- 
tion," to  which,  I  fear,  I  have  not  been  so  full  hi  my 
answer  as  I  ought  to  have  been,  and  as  I  am  well 
warranted  to  be.  The  author  has  endeavored  to 
throw  a  suspicion,  or  something  more,  on  that  salu- 
tary, and  indeed  necessary  measure  of  opening  the 
ports  in  Jamaica.  "  Orders  were  given,"  says  he, 
"  in  August,  1765,  for  the  free  admission  of  Spanish 
vessels  into  all  the  colonies."  *  lie  then  observes, 
that  the  exports  to  Jamaica  fell  40,904/.  sliort  of  those 
of  1764  ;  and  that  the  exports  of  the  succeeding  year, 
1766,  fell  short  of  those  of  1765,  about  eighty  pounds  ; 
from  whence  he  wisely  infers,  that  this  decline  of  ex- 
j)orts  being  8i7ice  the  relaxation  of  tlie  laws  of  trade, 
there  is  a  just  ground  of  suspicion,  that  the  colonies 
have  been  sujjplied  with  foreign  commodities  instead 
of  British. 

*  His  note,  p.  22. 


ON  THE  PRESENT  STATE  OF  THE  NATION.    429 

Here,  as  usual  with  him,  the  author  builds  on  a 
fact  wliich  is  absolutely  false ;  and  which,  being  so, 
renders  his  whole  hypothesis  absurd  and  impossible. 
He  asserts,  that  the  order  for  admitting  Spanish  ves- 
sels was  given  in  August,  1765.  That  order  was  not 
signed  at  the  treasury  board  until  the  15th  day  of  the 
November  following  ;  and  therefore  so  far  from  affect- 
ing the  exports  of  the  year  1765,  that,  supposing  all 
possible  diligence  in  the  commissioners  of  the  cus- 
toms in  expediting  that  order,  and  every  advantage  of 
vessels  ready  to  sail,  and  the  most  favorable  wind,  it 
would  hardly  even  arrive  in  Jamaica,  within  the  lim- 
its of  that  year. 

This  order  could  therefore  by  no  possibility  be  a 
cavise  of  the  decrease  of  exports  in  1765.  If  it  had 
any  mischievous  operation,  it  could  not  be  before 
1766.  In  that  year,  according  to  our  author,  the  ex- 
ports fell  short  of  the  preceding,  just  eighty  pounds. 
He  is  welcome  to  that  diminution ;  and  to  all  the  con- 
sequences he  can  draw  from  it. 

But,  as  an  auxiliary  to  account  for  this  dreadful 
loss,  he  brings  in  the  Free-port  Act,  which  he  observes 
(for  his  convenience)  to  have  been  made  in  spring, 
1766  ;  but  (for  his  convenience  likewise)  he  forgets, 
that,  by  the  express  provision  of  the  act,  the  regula- 
tion was  not  to  be  in  force  in  Jamaica  until  the  No- 
vember following.  Miraculous  must  be  the  activity 
of  that  contraband  whose  operation  in  America  could, 
before  the  end  of  that  year,  have  reacted  upon  Eng- 
land, and  checked  the  exportation  from  hence  !  Un- 
less .he  chooses  to  suppose,  that  the  merchants  at 
whose  solicitation  this  act  had  been  obtained,  were  so 
frightened  at  the  accomplishment  of  their  own  most 
earnest  and  anxious  desire,  that,  before  any  good  or 


430  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION 

evil  "effect  from  it  could  happen,  they  immediately 
put  a  stop  to  all  further  exportation. 

It  is  obvious  that  we  must  look  for  the  true  effect 
of  that  act  at  the  time  of  its  first  possible  operation, 
that  is,  in  the  year  1767.  On  this  idea  how  stands 
the  account? 

1764,  Exports  to  Jamaica    ....      £  456,528 

1765 415,624 

1766 415,544 

1767    (first  year  of  the  Free-port  Act)    .     467,681 

This  author,  for  the  sake  of  a  present  momentary 
credit,  will  hazard  any  future  and  permanent  dis- 
grace. At  the  time  he  wrote,  the  account  of  1767 
could  not  be  made  up.  This  was  the  very  first  year 
of  the  trial  of  the  Free-port  Act ;  and  we  find  that 
the  sale  of  British  commodities  is  so  far  from  being 
lessened  by  that  act,  that  the  export  of  1767  amounts 
to  52,000Z.  more  than  that  of  either  of  the  two  pre 
ceding  years,  and  is  11,000Z.  above  that  of  his  stand- 
ard year  1764.  If  I  coiild  prevail  on  myself  to  ar- 
gue in  favor  of  a  great  commercial  scheme  from  the 
appearance  of  things  in  a  single  year,  I  should  from 
this  increase  of  export  infer  the  beneficial  effects  of 
that  measure.  In  truth,  it  is  not  wanting.  Nothing 
but  the  thickest  ignorance  of  the  Jamaica  trade  could 
have  made  any  one  entertain  a  fancy,  that  tlio  least 
ill  effect  on  our  commerce  could  follow  from  this 
opening  of  the  ports.  l>ut,  if  tlio  author  argues  the 
effect  of  regulations  in  the  American  trade  from  the 
export  of  the  year  in  which  they  are  made,  or  even 
of  the  following  ;  wliy  did  he  not  apply  this  rule  to 
his  own  ?  lie  liad  the  same  paper  before  him  which 
I  have  now  l)efore  rac.     He  must  have  seen  that  in 


ON    THE    PRESENT    STATE    OP   THE    NATION.         431 

his  standard  year  (the  year  1764),  the  principal  year 
of  his  new  regidations,  the  export  fell  no  less  than 
128,450/.  short. of  that  in  1763!  Did  the  export 
trade  revive  by  these  regulations  in  1765,  during 
which  year  they  continued  in  their  full  force  ?  It 
fell  about  40,000?.  still  lower.  Here  is  a  fall  of 
168,000L  ;  to  account  for  which,  would  have  become 
the  author  much  better  than  piddling  for  an  801.  Ml 
in  the  year  1766  (the  only  year  in  which  tJie  order  kit) 
objects  to  could  operate),  or  in  presuming  a  fall  of 
exports  from  a  regulation  which  took  place  only  in 
November,  1766  ;  whose  effects  could  not  appear  un- 
til the  following  year ;  and  which,  when  they  do  ap- 
pear, utterly  overthrow  all  his  flimsy  reasons  and  af 
fected  suspicions  upon  the  effect  of  opening  the  ports. 

This  author,  in  the  same  paragraph,  says,  that  "  it 
was  asserted  by  the  American  factors  and  agents,  that 
the  commanders  of  our  ships  of  war  and  tenders,  hav- 
ing custom-house  commissions,  and  the  strict  orders 
given  in  1764  for  a  due  execution  of  the  laws  of  trade 
in  the  colonies,  had  deterred  the  Spaniards  from  trad- 
ing with  us  ;  that  the  sale  of  British  manufactures  in 
the  West  Indies  had  been  greatly  lessened,  and  the 
receipt  of  large  sums  of  specie  prevented." 

If  the  American  factors  and  agents  asserted  this, 
they  had  good  ground  for  their  assertion.  They 
knew  that  the  Spanish  vessels  had  been  driven  from 
our  ports.  The  author  does  not  positively  deny  the 
fact.  If  he  should,  it  will  be  proved.  When  the  fac- 
tors connected  this  measure,  and  its  natural  conse- 
quences, with  an  actual  fall  in  the  exports  to  Ja- 
maica, to  no  less  an  amount  than  128,450Z.  in  one 
year,  and  with  a  further  fall  in  the  next,  is  their 
assertion   very  wonderful  ?     The   author   himself  is 


432  OBSERVATIONS    ON    A    LATE   PUBLICATION. 

full  as  much  alarmed  by  a  fall  of  only  40,000L;  for 
o-ivino-  him  the  facts  which  he  chooses  to  coin,  it  is  no 
more.  The  expulsion  of  the  Spanish  vessels  must 
certainly  have  been  one  cause,  if  not  of  the  first  de- 
clension of  the  exports,  yet  of  their  continuance  in 
their  reduced  state.  Other  causes  had  their  opera- 
tion, without  doubt.  In  what  degree  each  cause  pro- 
duced its  effect,  it  is  hard  to  determine.  But  the 
fqiet  of  a  fall  of  exports  upon  the  restraining  plan, 
and  of  a  rise  upon  the  taking  place  of  the  enlarging 
plan,  is  established  beyond  all  contradiction. 

This  author  says,  that  the  facts  relative  to  the 
Spanish  trade  were  asserted  by  American  factors  and 
agents  ;  insinuating,  that  the  ministry  of  1766  had  no 
better  authority  for  their  plan  of  enlargement  than 
such  assertions.  The  moment  he  chooses  it,  he  shall 
see  the  very  same  thing  asserted  by  governors  of 
provinces,  by  commanders  of  men-of-war,  and  by  offi- 
cers of  the  customs  ;  persons  the  most  bound  in  duty 
to  prevent  contraband,  and  the  most  interested  in  the 
seizures  to  be  made  in  consequence  of  strict  regula- 
tion. I  suppress  them  for  the  present;  wishing  that 
the  author  may  not  drive  me  to  a  more  full  discussion 
of  this  matter  than  it  may  be  altogether  prudent  to 
enter  into.  I  wish  he  had  not  made  any  of  these  dis- 
cussions necessary. 


THOUGHTS 


OS 


THE  CAUSE  OE  THE  PRESENT  DISCONTENTS. 

Hoc   vero  occultum,  intestinum,  domesticum   malum,  non  modo  non 

existit,   verum   etiam   opprimit,   antequam    perspicere   atque   explorare 

potueris. 

Cic. 

1770- 


VOL.  I. 


THOUGHTS 


ON 


THE  CAUSE  OE  THE  PRESENT  DISCONTENTS. 


IT  is  an  undertaking  of  some  degree  of  delicacy  to 
examine  into  the  cause  of  public  disorders.  If 
a  man  happens  not  to  succeed  in  such  an  inquiry,  he 
will  be  thought  weak  and  visionary  ;  if  he  touches 
the  true  grievance,  there  is  a  danger  that  he  may 
come  near  to  persons  of  weight  and  consequence, 
who  will  rather  be  exasperated  at  the  discovery  of 
their  errors,  than  thankful  for  the  occasion  of  cor- 
recting them.  If  he  should  be  obliged  to  blame  the 
favorites  of  the  people,  he  will  be  considered  as  the  tool 
of  power  ;  if  he  censures  those  in  power,  he  will  be 
looked  on  as  an  instrument  of  faction.  But  in  all 
exertions  of  duty  something  is  to  be  hazarded.  In 
cases  of  tumult  and  disorder,  our  law  has  invested 
every  man,  in  some  sort,  with  tlie  authority  of  a  mag- 
istrate. When  the  affairs  of  the  nation  are  distracted, 
private  people  are,  by  the  spirit  of  that  law,  justified 
in  stepping  a  little  out  of  their  ordinary  sphere. 
They  enjoy  a  privilege,  of  somewhat  more  dignity 
and  effect,  than  that  of  idle  lamentation  over  tlie  ca- 
lamities of  their  country.  They  may  look  into  them 
narrowly  ;  they  may  reason  upon  them  liberally ; 
and  if  they  should  be  so  fortunate  as  to  discover  the 
true  source  of  the  mischief,  and  to  suggest  any  prob- 


436  THOUGHTS   ON  THE   CAUSE 

able  method  of  removing  it,  though  they  may  dis- 
please the  rulers  for  the  day,  they  are  certainly  of 
service  to  the  cause  of  government.  Government  is 
deeply  interested  in  everything  which,  even  through 
the  medium  of  some  temporary  uneasiness,  may  tend 
finally  to  compose  the  minds  of  the  subject,  and  to 
conciliate  theu*  affections.  I  have  nothing  to  do  here 
with  the  abstract  value  of  the  voice  of  the  people. 
But  as  long  as  reputation,  the  most  precious  posses- 
sion of.  every  individual,  and  as  long  as  opinion,  the 
great  support  of  the  state,  depend  entirely  upon  that 
voice,  it  can  never  be  considered  as  a  thing  of  little 
consequence  either  to  individuals  or  to  governments. 
Nations  are  not  primarily  ruled  by  laws  :  less  by  vio- 
lence. Wliatever  original  energy  may  be  supposed 
either  in  force  or  regulation,  the  operation  of  both  is, 
in  truth,  merely  instrumental.  Nations  are  governed 
by  the  same  methods,  and  on  the  same  principles,  by 
which  an  individual  without  authority  is  often  able  to 
govern  those  who  are  his  equals  or  his  superiors  ;  by 
a  knowledge  of  their  temper,  and  by  a  judicious  man- 
agement of  it ;  I  mean,  —  when  public  affairs  are 
steadily  and  quietly  conducted  ;  not  wlien  govern- 
ment is  nothing  but  a  continued  scuffle  between  the 
magistrate  and  tlie  multitude ;  in  which  sometimes 
the  one  and  sometimes  the  other  is  uppermost ;  in 
which  they  alternately  yield  and  prevail,  in  a  series 
of  contemptible  victories,  and  scandalous  submis- 
sions. The  temper  of  the  people  amongst  whom  he 
presides  ought  therefore  to  be  the  first  study  of  a 
statesman.  1  And  the  knowledge  of  this  temper  it  is 
by  no  means  im))0ssiblc  for  him  to  attain,  if  he  has 
not  an  interest  in  being  ignorant  of  what  it  is  his 
duty  to  learu. 


OP   THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  437 

To  complain  of  the  age  we  live  in,  to  murmur  at 
the  present  possessors  of"  power,  to  lament  the  past, 
to  conceive  extravagant  hopes  of  the  future,  are  the 
common  dispositions  of  the  greatest  part  of  mankind  ; 
indeed  the  necessary  effects  of  the  ignorance  and  lev- 
ity of  the  vulgar.  ,  Such  complaints  and  humors  have 
existed  in  all  times  ;  yet  as  all  times  have  not  been 
alike,  true  political  sagacity  manifests  itself  in  distin- 
guishing that  complahit  which  only  characterizes  the 
general  infirmity  of  human  nature,  from  those  which 
are  symptoms  of  the  particular  distemperature  of  our 
own  air  and  season. 

Nobody,  I  believe,  will  consider  it  merely  as  the 
language  of  spleen  or  disappointment,  if  I  say,  that 
there  is  something  particularly  alarming  in  the  pres- 
ent conjuncture.  There  is  hardly  a  man,  in  or  out  of 
power,  who  holds  any  other  language.  That  govern- 
ment is  at  once  dreaded  and  contemned  ;  that  the  laws 
are  despoiled  of  all  their  respected  and  salutary  ter- 
rors ;  that  their  inaction  is  a  subject  of  ridicule,  and 
their  exertion  of  abhorrence  ;  that  rank,  and  office  and 
title,  and  all  the  solemn  plausibilities  of  the  world, 
have  lost  their  reverence  and  effect ;  that  our  foreign 
politics  are  as  much  deranged  as  our  domestic  econ- 
omy ;  that  our  dependencies  are  slackened  in  their 
affection,  and  loosened  from  their  obedience  ;  that  Ave 
know  neither  how  to  yield  nor  how  to  enforce  ;  that 
hardly  anything  above  or  below,  abroad  or  at  home, 
is  sound  and  entire  ;  but  that  disconnection  and  con- 
fusion, in  offices,  in  parties,  in  families,  in  Parlia- 
ment, in  the  nation,  prevail  beyond  the  disorders  of 
any  former  time  :  these  arc  facts  universally  admitted 
and  lamented. 

This  state  of  things  is  the  more  extraordinary,  be- 


438  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

cause  the  great  parties  which  formerly  divided  and 
agitated  the  kingdom  are  known  to  be  in  a  manner 
entirely  dissolved.  No  great  external  calamity  has 
visited  the  nation  ;  no  pestilence  or  famine.  We  do 
not  labor  at  present  under  any  scheme  of  taxation 
new  or  oppressive  in  the  quantity  or  in  the  mode. 
Nor  are  we  engaged  in  unsuccessful  war ;  in  which, 
our  misfortunes  might  easily  pervert  our  judgment ; 
and  our  minds,  sore  from  the  loss  of  national  glory, 
might  feel  every  blow  of  fortune  as  a  crime  in  gov 
ernment. 

It  is  impossible  that  the  cause  of  this  strange  dis- 
temper should  not  sometimes  become  a  subject  of  dis- 
course. It  is  a  compliment  due,  and  which  I  willingly 
pay,  to  those  who  administer  our  affairs,  to  take  notice 
in  the  first  place  of  their  speculation.  Our  minis- 
ters are  of  opinion,  that  the  increase  of  our  trade  and 
manufactures,  that  our  growth  by  colonization,  and 
by  conquest,  have  concurred  to  accumulate  immense 
wealth  in  the  hands  of  some  individuals  ;  and  this 
again  being  dispersed  among  the  people,  has  rendered 
them  universally  proud,  ferocious,  and  ungoverna- 
ble ;  that  tlie  insolence  of  some  from  their  enormous 
wealth,  and  the  boldness  of  others  from  a  guilty  pov- 
erty, have  rendered  them  capable  of  the  most  atrocious 
attempts  ;  so  that  they  have  trampled  upon  all  subor- 
dination, and  violently  borne  down  the  unarmed  laws 
of  a  free  government ;  barriers  too  feeble  against  the 
fury  of  a  po])uhice  so  fierce  and  licentious  as  ours. 
They  contend,  tliat  no  adequate  provocation  has  been 
given  for  so  si)rc!Kling  a  discontent ;  our  allairs  having 
boon  conducted  tbroiigboiit  with  rcmarivablc  temper 
and  coiisuniniatc  wisdom.  Tbc  wicked  industry  of 
some  liljcUcrs,  joined  to  the  intrigues  of  a  few  disap- 


OP  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  439 

pointed  politicians,  have,  in  their  opinion,   been  able 
to  produce  this  unnatural  ferment  in  the  nation. 

Nothing  indeed  can  be  more  unnatural  than  the 
present  convulsions  of  this  country,  if  the  above  ac- 
count be  a  true  one.  I  confess  I  shall  assent  to  it 
with  great  reluctance,  and  only  on  the  compulsion  of 
the  clearest  and  firmest  proofs  ;  because  their  account 
resolves  itself  into  this  short,  but  discouraging  proposi- 
tion, "  That  we  have  a  very  good  ministry,  but  that  we 
are  a  very  bad  people  "' ;  that  we  set  ourselves  to  bite 
the  hand  that  feeds  us  ;  that  with  a  malignant  insan- 
ity, we  oppose  the  measures,  and  ungratefully  vilify 
the  persons,  of  those  whose  sole  object  is  our  own 
peace  and  prosperity.  If  a  few  puny  libellers,  acting 
under  a  knot  of  factious  politicians,  without  virtue, 
parts,  or  character,  (such  they  are  constantly  repre- 
sented by  these  gentlemen,)  are  sufficient  to  excite 
this  disturbance,  very  perverse  must  be  the  disposi- 
tion of  that  people,  amongst  whom  such  a  disturbance 
can  be  excited  by  such  means.  It  is  besides  no 
small  aggravation  of  the  public  misfortune,  that  the 
disease,  on  this  hypothesis,  appears  to  be  without  rem- 
edy. If  the  wealth  of  the  nation  be  the  cause  of  its 
turbulence,  I  imagine  it  is  not  proposed  to  introduce 
poverty,  as  a  constable  to  keep  the  peace.  If  our  do- 
minions abroad  are  the  roots  which  feed  all  this  rank 
luxuriance  of  sedition,  it  is  not  intended  to  cut  them 
off  in  order  to  famish  the  fruit.  If  our  liberty  has 
enfeebled  the  executive  power j  there  is  no  design,  I 
hope,  to  call  in  the  aid  of  despotism,  to  fill  up  the 
deficiencies  of  law.  Whatever  may  be  intended, 
these  things  are  not  yet  professed.  We  seem  there- 
fore to  be  driven  to  absolute  despair  ;  for  we  have  no 
other  materials  to  work  upon,  but  those  out  of  which 


440  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

God  lias  been  pleased  to  form  the  inhabitants  of  tliis 
island.  If  these  be  radically  and  essentially  vicious,  ^ 
all  that  can  be  said  is,  that  those  men  are  very  un-  * 
happy,  to  whose  fortune  or  duty  it  falls  to  administer 
the  affairs  of  this  untoward  people.  I  hear  it  indeed 
sometimes  asserted,  that  a  steady  perseverance  in  the 
present  measures,  and  a  rigorous  punishment  of  those 
who  oppose  them,  will  in  course  of  time  infallibly  put 
an  end  to  these  disorders.  But  this,  in  my  opinion, 
is  said  without  much  observation  of  our  present  dis- 
position, and  without  any  knowledge  at  all  of  the 
general  nature  of  mankind.  If  the  matter  of  which 
this  nation  is  composed  be  so  very  fermentable  as  these 
gentlemen  describe  it,  leaven  never  will  be  wanthig 
to  work  it  up,  as  long  as  discontent,  revenge,  and  am- 
bition, have  existence  in  the  world.  Particular  pun- 
ishments are  the  cure  for  accidental  distempers  in 
the  state ;  they  inflame  rather  than  allay  those  heats 
which  arise  from  the  settled  mismanagement  of  the 
government,  or  from  a  natural  iji disposition  in  the 
people.  It  is  of  the  utmost  moment  not  to  make 
mistakes  in  the  use  of  strong  measures  ;  and  firmness 
is  then  only  a  virtue  when  it  accompanies  the  most 
perfect  wisdom.  In  truth,  inconstancy  is  a  sort  of 
natural  corrective  of  folly  and  ignorance. 

I  am  not  one  of  those  who  think  that  the  people 
are  never  in  the  wrong.  They  have  been  so,  fre- 
quently and  outrageously,  both  in  other  countries  and 
in  this.  But  1  do  say,  that  in  all  disputes  between 
tliem  and  their  rulers,  the  prosuniplion  is  at  least 
uj)on  a  par  in  favor  of  the  people.  Experience  may 
perliaps  justify  me  in  going  further.  When  popular 
discontents  have  been  very  prevalent,  it  may  well  be 
affirmed  and  supported,  that  there  has  been  generally 


OF   THE  PRESENT    DISCONTENTS.  441 

something  found  amiss  in  the  constitution,  or  in  the 
conduct  of  government.  The  people  have  no  interest 
in  disorder.  When  they  do  wrong,  it  is  their  error, 
and  not  their  crime.  But  with  the  governing  part  of 
the  state,  it  is  far  otherwise.  They  certainly  may 
act  ill  by  design,  as  well  as  by  mistake.  "  Les  re- 
volutions qui  arrivent  dans  les  grands  etats  ne  sont 
point  un  effect  du  hazard,  ni  du  caprice  des  peuples. 
Mien  ne  revolte  les  grands  d'un  royaume  comme  un 
gouvernement  foible  et  d(5rang<5.  Pour  la  populace, 
ce  rCtst  jamais  par  envie  d'attaquer  qii'elle  se  souleve, 
mais  par  impatience  de  souffrir^  *  These  are  the 
words  of  a  great  man ;  of  a  minister  of  state  ;  and  a 
zealous  assertor  of  monarchy.  They  are  applied  to 
the  system  of  favoritism  which  was  adopted  by  Henry 
the  Third  of  France,  and  to  the  dreadful  conse- 
quences it  produced.  What  he  says  of  revolutions, 
is  equally  true  of  all  great  disturbances.  If  this  pre- 
sumption in  favor  of  the  subjects  against  the  trustees 
of  power  be  not  the  more  probable,  I  am  sure  it  is 
the  more  comfortable  speculation  ;  because  it  is  more 
easy  to  change  an  administration,  than  to  reform  a 
people. 

Upon  a  supposition,  therefore,  that,  in  the  opening 
of  the  cause,  the  presumptions  stand  equally  bal- 
anced between  the  parties,  there  seems  sufficient 
ground  to  entitle  any  person  to  a  fair  hearing,  who 
attempts  some  other  scheme  beside  that  easy  ojie 
which  is  fashionable  in  some  fashionable  companies, 
to  account  for  the  present  discontents.  It  is  not  to 
be  argued  that  we  endure  no  grievance,  because  our 
grievances  are  not  of  the  same  sort  with  those  under 
which  we  labored  formerly  ;  not  precisely  those  which 

*  Mem.  de  Sully,  torn.  i.  p.  133. 


442  THOUGHTS   ON  THE   CAUSE 

we  l)ore  from  the  Tiidors,  or  vindicated  on  the  Stu- . 
arts.  A  great  change  lias  taken  place  in  the  affairs 
of  this  country.  For  in  the  silent  lapse  of  events  as 
material  alterations  have  been  insensibly  brought 
about  in  the  policy  and  character  of  governments 
and  nations,  as  those  which  have  been  marked  by  the 
tumult  of  public  revolutions. 

It  is  very  rare  indeed  for  men  to  be  wrong  in  their 
feelings  concerning  public  misconduct ;  as  rare  to  be 
right  in  their  speculation  upon  the  cause  of  it.     I 
have  constantly  observed,  that  the  generality  of  peo- 
ple are  fifty  years,  at  least,  behindhand  in  their  poli- 
tics.    There  are  but  very  few  who  are  capable  of  com- 
paring and  digesting  what  passes  before  their  eyes  at 
different  times  and  occasions,  so  as  to  form  the  whole 
into  a  distinct  system.     But  in  books  everything  is 
settled  for  them,  without  the  exertion  of  any  consid- 
erable diligence  or  sagacity.     For  which  reason  men 
are  wise  with  but  little  reflection,  and  good  with  little 
self-denial,  in  the  business  of  all  times  except  their 
own.     We  are  very  uncorrupt  and  tolerably  enlight- 
ened judges  of  the  transactions  of  past  ages  ;  where 
no  passions  deceive,  and  where  the  whole  train  of 
circumstances,  from  the  trifling  cause  to  the  tragical 
event,  is  set  in  an  orderly  series  before  us.     Few  are 
the  partisans  of  departed  tyranny  ;  and  to  be  a  Whig 
on  the  business  of  an  hundred  years  ago,  is  very  con- 
sistent  with   every   advantage   of  present   servility. 
This  retrospective  wisdom,  and  historical  patriotism, 
are  things  of  wonderful  convenience,  and   servo  ad- 
mirably to  reconcile  the  old  quarrel  between  specula- 
tion and   practice.     Many  a  stern   re]niblica.n,  alter 
gorging  liiniself  with  a  full  feast  of  admiration  of  the 
Grecian  connnonwealths  and  of  our  true  Saxon  cou- 


OF  THE   PRESENT  DISCONTENTS.  443 

stitiition,  and  discharging  all  the  splendid  bile  of  his 
virtuous  indignation  on  King  John  and  King  James, 
sits  down  perfectly  satisfied  to  the  coarsest  work  and 
homeliest  job  of  the  day  he  lives  in.  I  believe  there 
was  no  professed  admirer  of  Henry  the  Eighth  among 
the  instruments  of  the  last  King  James  ;  nor  in  the 
court  of  Henry  the  Eighth  was  there,  I  dare  say,  to 
be  found  a  single  advocate  for  the  favorites  of  Richard 
the  Second. 

No  complaisance  to  our  court,  or  to  our  age,  can 
make  me  believe  nature  to  be  so  changed,  but  that 
public  liberty  will  be  among  us  as  among  our  ances- 
tors, obnoxious  to  some  person  or  other ;  and  that 
opportunities  will  be  furnished  for  attempting,  at 
least,  some  alteration  to  the  prejudice  of  our  con- 
stitution. These  attempts  will  naturally  vary  in  their 
mode  according  to  times  and  circumstances.  For 
ambition,  though  it  has  ever  the  same  general  views, 
has  not  at  all  times  the  same  means,  nor  the  same 
particular  objects.  A  great  deal  of  the  furniture  of 
ancient  tyranny  is  worn  to  rags  ;  the  rest  is  entirely 
out  of  fashion.  Besides,  there  are  few  statesmen  so 
very  clumsy  and  awkward  in  their  business,  as  to  fall 
into  the  identical  snare  which  has  proved  fatal  to  their 
predecessors.  When  an  arbitrary  imposition  is  at- 
tempted upon  the  subject,  undoubtedly  it  will  not  bear 
on  its  forehead  the  name  of  Ship-money.  There  is  no 
danger  that  an  extension  of  the  Forest  laws  should  be 
the  chosen  mode  of  oppression  iii  this  age.  And  when 
we  hear  any  instance  of  ministerial  rapacity,  to  the  pre- 
judice of  the  rights  of  private  life,  it  will  certainly  not 
be  the  exaction  of  two  hundred  pullets,  from  a  woman 
of  fashion,  for  leave  to  lie  with  her  own  husband.* 

*  "  Uxor  Hugonis  de  Nevill  dat  Domino  Regi  ducentas  Galliaas, 


444  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

Every  age  has  its  own  manners,  and  its  politics  de- 
pendent upon  tliem  ;  and  the  same  attempts  will  not 
be  made  against  a  constitution  fully  formed  and  ma- 
tured, that  were  used  to  destroy  it  in  the  cradle,  or 
to  resist  its  growth  during  its  infancy. 

Against  the  being  of  Parliament,  I  am  satisfied,  no 
designs  have  ever  been  entertained  since  the  revolu- 
tion. Every  one  must  perceive,  that  it  is  strongly 
tho  interest  of  the  court,  to  have  some  second  cause 
interposed  between  the  ministers  and  the  people. 
The  gentlemen  of  the  House  of  Commons  have  an  in- 
,terest  equally  strong  in  sustaining  the  part  of  that 
intermediate  cause.  However  they  may  hire  out  the 
usufruct  of  their  voices,  they  never  will  part  with  the 
fee  and  inheritance.  Accordingly  those  who  have  been 
of  the  most  known  devotion  to  the  will  and  pleasure 
of  a  court  have,  at  the  same  time,  been  most  forward 
in  asserting  a  high  authority  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. Wlien  they  knew  who  were  to  use  that  au- 
thority, and  how  it  was  to  be  employed,  they  thought 
it  never  could  be  carried  too  far.  It  must  be  always 
the  wish  of  an  unconstitutional  statesman,  that  a 
House  of  Commons,  who  are  entirely  dependent  upon 
him,  should  have  every  riglit  of  the  people  enth-ely 
dependent  upon  their  pleasure.  It  was  soon  discov- 
ered, tliat  the  forms  of  a  free,  and  the  ends  of  an 
arl)itrary  government,  were  things  not  altogether  in- 
compatible. 

The  power  of  the  crown,  ahuost  dead  and  rotten 
as  Prerogative,  luis  grown  uj)  anew,  with  much  mure 
strength,  and  far  loss  odimn,  under  the  name  of 
Tnfhicncc.      An    inlhunice,   which    operated    without 

eo  quod  possit  jaccro  una  nocte  cum  Domino  sue  Hugonc  do  Ncvill."  — 
Ma.ldox,  Hist.  Exch.  c.  xiii.  p.  326. 


ON  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  445 

noise  and  without  violence ;  an  influence,  which  con- 
verted the  very  antagonist  into  the  instrument  of 
power  ;  which  contained  in  itself  a  perpetual  prin- 
ciple of  growth  and  renovation  ;  and  which  the  dis- 
tresses and  the  prosjxu'ity  of  the  country  equally 
tended  to  augment,  was  an  admirable  substitute  for 
a  prerogative,  that,  being  only  the  offspring  of  anti- 
quated prejudices,  had  moulded  in  its  original  stam- 
ina irresistible  principles  of  decay  and  dissolution. 
Tlie  ignorance  of  the  people  is  a  bottom  but  for  a 
temporary  system ;  the  interest  of  active  men  in  the 
state  is  a  foundation  perpetual  and  infallible.  How- 
ever, some  circumstances,  arising,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, in  a  great  degree  from  accident,  prevented 
the  effects  of  this  influence  for  a  long  time  from 
breaking  oiit  in  a  manner  capable  of  exciting  any 
serious  apprehensions.  Although  government  was 
strong  and  flourished  exceedingly,  the  court  had 
drawn  far  less  advantage  than  one  would  imagine 
from  this  great  source  of  power. 

At  the  revolution,  the  crown,  deprived,  for  the 
ends  of  the  revolution  itself,  of  many  prerogatives, 
was  found  too  weak  to  struggle  against  all  the  diffi- 
culties which  pressed  so  new  and  unsettled  a  govern- 
ment. The  court  was  obliged  therefore  to  delegate 
a  part  of  its  powers  to  men  of  such  interest  as  could 
support,  and  of  such  fidelity  as  would  adhere  to,  its 
establishment.  Such  men  were  able  to  draw  in  a 
greater  number  to  a  concurrence  in  the  coimnon 
defence.  This  connection,  necessary  at  first,  contin- 
ued long  after  convenient ;  and  properly  conducted 
might  indeed,  in  all  situations,  be  an  useful  instru- 
ment of  government.  At  the  same  time,  through 
the  intervention  of  men  of  popular  weight  and  char- 


446  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

acter,  the  people  possessed  a  security  for  their  just 
proportion  of  importauce  in  the  state.  But  as  the 
title  to  the  crown  grew  stronger  by  long  possession, 
and  by  the  constant  increase  of  its  influence,  these 
helps  have  of  late  seemed  to  certain  persons  no  bet- 
ter than  incumbrances.  The  powerful  managers  for 
government  were  not  sufficiently  submissive  to  the 
pleasure  of  the  possessors  of  immediate  and  personal 
favor,  sometimes  from  a  confidence  in  their  own 
strength,  natural  and  acquired  ;  sometimes  from  a 
fear  of  offending  their  friends,  and  weakening  that 
lead  in  the  country  which  gave  them  a  consideration 
independent  of  the  court.  Men  acted  as  if  the  court 
could  receive,  as  well  as  confer,  an  obligation.  The 
influence  of  government,  thus  divided  in  appearance 
between  the  court  and  the  leaders  of  parties,  became 
in  many  cases  an  accession  rather  to  the  popular  than 
to  the  royal  scale;  and  some  part  of  that  influence, 
which  would  otherwise  have  been  possessed  as  in  a  sort 
of  mortmain  and  unalienable  domain,  returned  again 
to  the  great  ocean  from  whence  it  arose,  and  circulated 
among  the  people.  This  method,  therefore,  of  gov- 
erning by  men  of  great  natural  interest  or  great  ac- 
quired consideration  was  viewed  in  a  very  invidious 
light  by  the  true  lovers  of  absolute  monarchy.  It  is 
the  nature  of  despotism  to  abhor  power  hold  by  any 
means  but  its  own  momentary  pleasure  ;  and  to  anni- 
hilate all  intermediate  situations  between  boundless 
strength  on  its  own  part,  and  total  debility  on  the  part 
of  the  people. 

To  get  rid  of  all  this  intermediate  and  independent 
iini>ortancc,  and  to  secure  to  the  court  the  unlimited 
and  uncontrolled  use  of  its  own  vast  injlne7ice,  under 
the  sole  direction  of  its  own  private  favor,  has  for  some 


OP   THE    PRESENT    DISCONTENTS,  447 

years  past  been  the  great  object  of  policy.  If  this 
were  compassed,  the  influence  of  the  crown  must  of 
course  produce  all  the  effects  which  the  most  san- 
guine partisans  of  the  court  could  possibly  desire. 
Government  might  then  be  carried  on  without  any 
concurrence  on  the  part  of  the  people ;  without  any 
attention  to  the  dignity  of  the  greater,  or  to  the  affec- 
tions of  the  lower  sorts.  A  now  project  was  there- 
fore devised  by  a  certain  set  of  intriguing  men,  totally 
different  from  the  system  of  administration  which  had 
prevailed  since  the  accession  of  the  House  of  Bruns- 
wick. This  project,  I  have  heard,  was  first  conceived 
by  some  persons  in  the  court  of  Frederick  Prince  of 
Wales. 

The  earliest  attempt  in  the  execution  of  this  design 
was  to  set  up  for  minister,  a  person,  in  rank  indeed 
respectable,  and  very  ample  in  fortune ;  but  who,  to 
the  moment  of  this  vast  and  sudden  elevation,  was 
little  known  or  considered  in  the  kingdom.  To  him 
the  whole  nation  was  to  yield  an  immediate  and  im- 
plicit submission.  But  whether  it  was  from  want  of 
firmness  to  bear  up  against  the  first  opposition ;  or 
that  things  were  not  yet  fully  ripened,  or  that  this 
method  was  not  found  the  most  eligible  ;  that  idea 
was  soon  abandoned.  The  instrumental  part  of  the 
project  was  a  little  altered,  to  accommodate  it  to  the 
time  and  to  bring  things  more  gradually  and  more 
surely  to  the  one  great  end  proposed. 

The  first  part  of  the  reformed  plan  was  to  draw  a 
line  tvhich  should  sejyarate  the  court  from  the  ministry. 
Hitlierto  these  names  had  been  looked  upon  as  sy- 
nonymous ;  but  for  the  future,  court  and  administra- 
tion were  to  be  considered  as  things  totally  distinct. 
By  this  operation,  two  systems  of  administration  were 


448  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

to  be  formed  ;  one  which  should  be  in  the  real  secret 
and  confidence ;  the  other  merely  ostensible  to  per- 
form the  official  and  executory  duties  of  government. 
The  latter  were  alone  to  be  responsible  ;  whilst  the 
real  advisers,  who  enjoyed  all  the  power,  were  effect- 
ually removed  from  all  the  danger. 

Secondly,  A  'party  under  these  leaders  was  to  he 
formed  in  favor  of  the  court  against  the  7ninistry :  this 
party  was  to  have  a  large  share  in  the  emoluments  of " 
government,  and  to  hold  it  totally  separate  from,  and 
independent  of,  ostensible  administration. 

The  third  point,  and  that  on  which  the  success  of 
the  whole  scheme  ultimately  depended,  was  to  bring 
Parliament  to  an  acquiescence  in  this  project.  Parlia- 
ment was  therefore  to  be  taught  by  degrees  a  total 
indifference  to  the  persons,  rank,  influence,  abilities, 
connections,  and  character  of  the  ministers  of  the 
crown.  By  means  of  a  discipline,  on  which  I  shall 
say  more  hereafter,  that  body  was  to  be  habituated 
to  the  most  opposite  interests,  and  the  most  dis- 
cordant politics.  All  connections  and  dependencies 
among  subjects  were  to  be  entirely  dissolved.  As, 
hitherto,  business  had  gone  through  the  hands  of 
leaders  of  Whigs  or  Tories,  men  of  talents  to  concili- 
ate the  people,  and  to  engage  their  confidence  ;  now 
the  method  was  to  be  altered :  and  the  lead  was  to 
be  given  to  men  of  no  sort  of  consideration  or  credit 
in  the  country.  This  want  of  natural  imi)ortance  was 
to  be  their  very  title  to  delegated  power.  Members 
of  Parliament  were  to  be  hardened  into  an  insensi- 
l)ility  to  pride  as  well  as  to  duty.  Those  higli  and 
haughty  sentiments,  which  arc  the  great  support  of 
independence,  were  to  be  let  down  gradually.  Points 
of  honor  and  precedence  were  no  more  to  be  regarded 


OP  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  449 

in  Parliamentary  decorum  than  in  a  Turkish  army. 
It  was  to  bo  avowed,  as  a  constitutional  maxim,  that 
the  king  might  appoint  one  of  his  footmen,  or  one 
of  your  footmen  for  minister ;  and  that  he  ought  to 
be,  and  that  he  would  be,  as  well  followed  as  the 
first  name  for  rank  or  wisdom  in  the  nation.  Thus 
Parliament  was  to  look  on  as  if  perfectly  unconcerned, 
while  a  cabal  of  the  closet  and  back-stairs  was  substi- 
tuted in  the  place  of  a  national  administration. 

With  such  a  degree  of  acquiescence,  any  measure 
of  any  court  might  well  be  deemed  thoroughly  secure. 
The  capital  objects,  and  by  much  the  most  flattering 
characteristics  of  arbitrary  power,  would  be  obtained. 
Everything  would  be  drawn  from  its  holdings  in  the 
country  to  the  personal  favor  and  inclination  of  the 
prince.  This  favor  would  be  the  sole  introduction  to 
power,  and  the  only  tenure  by  which  it  was  to  be 
held  ;  so  that  no  person  looking  towards  another,  and 
all  looking  towards  the  court,  it  was  impossible  but 
that  the  motive  which  solely  influenced  every  man's 
hopes  must  come  in  time  to  govern  every  man's  con- 
duct ;  till  at  last  the  servility  became  universal,  in 
spite  of  the  dead  letter  of  any  laws  or  institutions 
whatsoever. 

How  it  should  happen  that  any  man  could  be 
tempted  to  venture  upon  such  a  project  of  govern- 
ment, may  at  first  view  appear  surprising.  But  the 
fact  is  that  opportunities  very  inviting  to  such  an  at- 
tempt have  offered  ;  and  the  scheme  itself  was  not 
destitute  of  some  arguments,  not  wholly  unplausible, 
to  recommend  it.  Tliese  opportunities  and  these  ar- 
guments, the  use  that  has  been  made  of  both,  the 
plan  for  carrying  this  new  scheme  of  government 
into   execution,   and   the   effects  which  it  has  pro- 

VOL.  I.  29 


450  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

duced,  are,  in  my  opinion,  worthy  of  our  serioiis  con- 
sideration. 

His  Majesty  came  to  the  throne  of  these  kingdoms 
with  more  advantages  than  any  of  his  predecessors 
since  the  revolution.  Fourth  in  descent,  and  third  in 
succession  of  his  royal  family,  even  the  zealots  of  he- 
reditary right,  in  him,  saw  something  to  flatter  their 
favorite  prejudices ;  and  to  justify  a  transfer  of  their 
attachments,  without  a  change  in  their  principles. 
The  person  and  cause  of  the  Pretender  were  become 
contemptible  ;  his  title  disowned  throughout  Europe  ; 
his  party  disbanded  in  England.  His  Majesty  came, 
indeed,  to  the  inheritance  of  a  mighty  war ;  but,  vic- 
torious in  every  part  of  the  globe,  peace  was  always  in 
his  power,  not  to  negotiate,  but  to  dictate.  No  for- 
eign habitudes  or  attachments  withdi'cw  him  from 
the  cultivation  of  his  power  at  home.  His  revenue 
for  the  civil  establishment,  fixed  (as  it  was  then 
thought)  at  a  large,  but  definite  sum,  was  ample 
without  being  invidious.  His  influence,  by  additions 
from  conquest,  by  an  augmentation  of  debt,  by  an 
increase  of  military  and  naval  establishment,  much 
strengthened  and  extended.  And  coming  to  the 
throne  in  the  prime  and  full  vigor  of  youth,  as  from 
aircction  there  was  a  strong  dislike,  so  from  dread 
there  seemed  to  be  a  general  averseness,  from  giv- 
ing anything  like  offence  to  a  monarch,  against  whose 
resentment  opposition  could  not  look  for  a  refuge  in 
any  sort  of  reversionary  hope. 

These  singular  advantages  insjnred  his  Majesty  only 
with  a  more  ardent  desire  to  preserve  unimpaired  the 
spirit  of  thalf  national  freedom,  to  which  he  owed  a  sit- 
uation so  full  of  glory.  I'lit  to  others  it  suggested  sen- 
timents of  a  very  diflerent  nature.    Thisy  thought  they 


OF   THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  451 

now  belield  an  opportunity  (by  a  certain  sort  of  states- 
men never  long  undiscovered  or  unemployed)  of  draw- 
ing to  themselves  by  the  aggrandizement  of  a  court 
faction,  a  degree  of  power  which  they  could  never  hope 
to  derive  from  natural  influence  or  from  honorable 
service  ;  and  wliich  it  was  impossible  they  could  hold 
with  the  least  security,  whilst  the  system  of  adminis- 
tration rested  upon  its  former  bottom.  In  order  to 
facilitate  the  execution  of  their  design,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  make  many  alterations  in  political  arrange- 
ment, and  a  signal  change  in  the  opinions,  habits, 
and  connections  of  the  greatest  part  of  those  who  at 
that  time  acted  in  public. 

In  the  first  place,  they  proceeded  gradually,  but  not 
slowly,  to  destroy  everything  of  strength  which  did 
not  derive  its  principal  nourishment  from  the  imme- 
diate pleasure  of  the  court.  The  greatest  weight  of 
popular  opinion  and  party  connection  were  then  with 
the  Duke  of  Newcastle  and  Mr.  Pitt.  Neither  of  these 
held  their  importance  by  the  new  tenure  of  the  court ; 
they  were  not  therefore  thought  to  be  so  proper  as 
others  for  the  services  which  were  required  by  that 
tenure.  It  happened  very  favorably  for  the  new  sys- 
tem, that  under  a  forced  coalition  there  rankled  an 
incurable  alienation  and  disgust  between  the  parties 
which  composed  the  administration.  Mr.  Pitt  was 
first  attacked.  Not  satisfied  with  removing  him  from 
power,  they  endeavored  by  various  artifices  to  ruin 
his  character.  The  other  party  seemed  rather  pleased 
to  get  rid  of  so  oppressive  a  support ;  not  perceiving, 
that  their  own  fall  was  prepared  by  his,  and  involved 
in  it.  Many  otlier  reasons  prevented  them  from  dar- 
ing to  look  their  true  situation  in  the  face.  To  the 
great  Whig  families  it  was   extremely  disagreeable, 


462  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

and  seemed  almost  unnatural,  to  oppose  the  admin- 
istration of  a  prince  of  the  House  of  Brunswick.  Day 
after  day  they  hesitated,  and  doubted,  and  lingered, 
expectmg  that  other  counsels  would  take  place  ;  and 
were  slow  to  be  persuaded,  that  all  which  had  been 
done  by  the  cabal  was  the  effect  not  of  humor,  but 
of  system.  It  was  more  strongly  and  evidently  the 
interest  of  the  new  court  faction,  to  get  rid  of  the 
great  Whig  connections,  than  to  destroy  Mr.  Pitt. 
The  power  of  that  gentleman  was  vast  indeed  and 
merited ;  but  it  was  in  a  great  degree  personal,  and 
therefore  transient.  Theirs  was  rooted  in  the  coun- 
try. For,  with  a  good  deal  less  of  popularity,  they 
possessed  a  far  more  natural  and  fixed  influence. 
Long  possession  of  government ;  vast  property  ;  obli- 
gations of  favors  given  and  received ;  connection  of 
office  ;  ties  of  blood,  of  alliance,  of  frieiidsliip  (things 
at  that  time  supposed  of  some  force)  ;  the  name  of 
Whig,  dear  to  the  majority  of  the  people ;  the  zeal 
early  begun  and  steadily  continued  to  the  royal  fam- 
ily :  all  these  together  formed  a  body  of  power  in  the 
nation,  which  was  criminal  and  devoted.  The  great 
ruling  principle  of  the  pabal,  and  that  which  ani- 
mated and  harmonized  all  their  proceedings,  how  va- 
rious soever  they  may  have  been,  was  to  signify  to  the 
world  that  the  court  would  proceed  upon  its  own 
proper  forces  only  ;  and  that  the  pretence  of  bringing 
any  other  into  its  service  was  an  affront  to  it,  and  not 
a  support.  Therefore  when  tlie  chiefs  were  removed, 
in  order  to  go  to  the  root,  the  whole  party  was  put 
under  a  proscrij)tion,  so  general  and  severe,  as  to 
take  their  hard-earned  bread  from  the  lowest  offi- 
cers, in  a  manner  which  liad  never  been  known  be- 
fore, even  in  general  revolutions.     But  it  was  thought 


OP  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  453 

necessary  effectually  to  destroy  all  dependencies  but 
one ;  and  to  show  an  example  of  the  firmness  and 
rigor  with  which  the  new  system  was  to  be  supported. 

Thus  for  the  time  were  pulled  down,  in  the  persons 
of  the  Whig  leaders  and  of  Mr.  Pitt  (in  spite  of  the 
services  of  the  one  at  the  accession  of  the  royal  fam- 
ily, and  the  recent  services  of  the  other  in  the  war), 
the  two  only  securities  for  the  iinportance  of  the  people  ; 
po  wer  arising  from  pop  ularity  ;  and  power  arising  from 
connection.  Here  and  there  indeed  a  few  individuals 
were  left  standing,  who  gave  security  for  their  total 
estrangement  from  the  odious  principles  of  party  con- 
nection and  personal  attachment ;  and  it  must  be 
confessed  that  most  of  them  have  religiously  kept 
their  faith.  Such  a  change  could  not  however  be 
made  without  a  mighty  shock  to  government. 

To  reconcile  the  minds  of  the  people  to  all  these 
movements,  principles  correspondent  to  them  had 
been  preached  up  with  great  zeal.  Every  one  must 
remember  that  the  cabal  set  out  with  the  most  as- 
tonishing prudery,  both  moral  and  political.  Those, 
who  in  a  few  months  after  soused  over  head  and  ears 
into  the  deepest  and  dirtiest  pits  of  conniption,  cried 
out  violently  against  the  indirect  practices  in  the  elect- 
ing and  managing  of  Parliaments,  which  had  for- 
merly prevailed.  This  marvellous  abhorrence  which 
the  court  had  suddenly  taken  to  all  influence,  was 
not  only  circulated  in  conversation  through  the  king- 
dom, but  pompously  announced  to  the  public,  with 
many  other  extraordinary  tilings,  in  a  pamphlet* 
which  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  manifesto  pre- 
paratory to  some  considerable  enterprise.  Through- 
out it  was  a  satire,  though  in  terms  managed  and 

*  Sentiments  of  an  Honest  Man. 


454  THOUGHTS   ON   THE    CAUSE 

decent  enough,  on  the  politics  of  the  former  reign. 
It  was  indeed  written  with  no  small  art  and  address. 

In  this  piece  appeared  the  first  dawning  of  the  new 
system :  there  first  appeared  the  idea  (then  only  in 
speculation)  of  separating  the  court  from  the  adminis- 
tration ;  of  carrying  everything  from  national  connec- 
tion to  personal  regards ;  and  of  forming  a  regular 
party  for  that  purpose,  under  the  name  of  king's  men. 

To  recommend  this  system  to  the  people,  a  per- 
spective view  of  the  court,  gorgeously  painted,  and 
finely  illuminated  from  within,  was  exhibited  to  the 
gaping  multitude.  Party  was  to  be  totally  done 
away,  with  all  its  evil  works.  Corruption  was  to  be 
cast  down  from  court,  as  Ate  was  from  heaven. 
Power  was  thenceforward  to  be  the  chosen  residence 
of  public  spirit ;  and  no  one  was  to  be  supposed  un- 
der any  sinister  influence,  except  those  who  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  in  disgrace  at  court,  which  was  to 
stand  in  lieu  of  all  vices  and  all  corruptions.  A 
scheme  of  perfection  to  be  realized  in  a  monarchy  far 
beyond  the  visionary  republic  of  Plato.  The  whole 
scenery  was  exactly  disposed  to  captivate  those  good 
souls,  whose  credulous  morality  is  so  invaluable  a 
treasure  to  crafty  politicians.  Indeed  there  was 
wherewithal  to  charm  everybody,  except  those  few 
who  are  not  much  pleased  with  professions  of  super- 
natural virtue,  who  know  of  what  stuff  such  profes- 
sions are  made,  for  what  purposes  they  are  designed, 
and  in  what  they  are  sure  constantly  to  end.  Many 
innocent  gentlemen,  who  had  been  talking  prose  all 
their  lives  without  knowing  anything  of  the  matter, 
began  at  last  to  open  their  eyes  upon  their  own  mer- 
its, and  to  attril)ute  their  not  having  been  lords  of 
the  treasury  and  lords  of  trade  many  years  before, 


OP  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS,  455 

merely  to  the  prevalence  of  party,  and  to  the  mini?;- 
terial  power,  which  had  frustrated  the  good  inten- 
tions of  the  court  in  favor  of  their  abilities.  Now 
was  the  time  to  unlock  the  sealed  fountain  of  royal 
bounty,  which  had  been  infamously  monopolized  and 
huckstered,  and  to  let  it  flow  at  large  upon  the  whole 
people.  The  time  was  come,  to  restore  royalty  to  its 
original  splendor.  Mettre  le  Roy  Jiors  de  page,  be- 
came a  sort  of  watchword.  And  it  was  constantly  in 
the  mouths  of  all  the  runners  of  the  court,  that  noth- 
ing could  preserve  the  balance  of  the  constitution 
from  being  overturned  by  the  rabble,  or  by  a  faction 
of  the  nobility,  but  to  free  the  sovereign  effectually 
from  that  ministerial  tyranny  under  which  the  royal 
dignity  had  been  oppressed  in  the  person  of  his  Ma- 
jesty's grandfather. 

These  were  some  of  the  many  artifices  used  to  rec- 
oncile the  people  to  the  great  change  which  was  made 
in  the  persons  who  composed  the  ministry,  and  the 
still  greater  which  was  made  and  avowed  in  its  con- 
stitution. As  to  individuals,  other  methods  were 
employed  with  them ;  in  order  so  thoroughly  to  disu- 
nite every  party,  and  even  every  family,  that  no  con- 
cert, order,  or  effect,  might  appear  in  any  future  opposi- 
tion. And  in  this  manner  an  administration  without 
connection  with  the  people, -or  with  one  another,  was 
first  put  in  possession  of  government.  What  good 
consequences  followed  from  it,  we  have  all  seen ; 
whether  with  regard  to  virtue,  public  or  private ;  to 
the  ease  and  happiness  of  the  sovereign ;  or  to  the 
real  strength  of  government.  But  as  so  much  stress 
was  then  laid  on  the  necessity  of  this  new  project,  it 
will  not  be  amiss  to  take  a  view  of  the  effects  of  this 
royal  servitude  and  vile  durance,  which  was  so  de- 


456  THOUGHTS   ON    THE   CAUSE 

plored  in  the  reign  of  the  late  monarch,  and  was  so 
carefully  to  he  avoided  in  the  reign  of  his  successor. 
The  effects  were  these. 

In  times  full  of  doubt  and  danger  to  his  person  and 
family,  George  II.  maintained  the  dignity  of  his 
crown  connected  with  the  liberty  of  his  people,  not 
only  unimpaired,  but  improved,  for  the  space  of  thir-" 
ty-three  years.  He  overcame  a  dangerous  rebellion, 
abetted  by  foreign  force,  and  raging  in  the  heart  of 
liis  kingdoms ;  and  thereby  destroyed  the  seeds  of  all 
future  rebellion  that  could  arise  upon  the  same  prin- 
ciple. He  carried  the  glory,  the  power,  the  com- 
merce of  England,  to  a  height  unknown  even  to  this 
renowned  nation  in  the  times  of  its  greatest  prosperi- 
ty :  and  he  left  his  succession  resting  on  the  true  and 
only  true  foundations  of  all  national  and  all  regal 
greatness ;  affection  at  home,  reputation  abroad, 
trust  in  allies,  terror  in  rival  nations.  The  most 
ardent  lover  of  his  country  cannot  wish  for  Great 
Britain  a  happier  fate  than  to  continue  as  she  was 
then  left.  A  people,  emulous  as  we  are  in  affection 
to  our  present  sovereign,  know  not  how  to  form  a 
prayer  to  heaven  for  a  greater  blessing  upon  his  vir- 
tues, or  a  higher  state  of  felicity  and  glory,  than  that 
he  should  live,  and  should  reign,  and  when  Provi- 
dence ordains  it,  should  die,  exactly  like  his  illustri- 
ous predecessor. 

A  great  prince  may  be  obliged  (tbougli  such  a 
thing  cannot  liapj)en  very  often)  to  sacrifice  his  pri- 
vate inclination  to  liis  pul)lic  interest.  A  wise  prince 
will  not  think  that  such  a  restraint  implies  a  condi- 
tion of  servility ;  and  truly,  if  such  was  the  condition 
of  the  last  reign,  and  tltc  effects  were  also  such  as  wo 
liavc  described,  we  ought,  no  less  for  tlic  sake  of  tho 


OP  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  457 

sovereign  whom  we  love,  than  for  our  own,  to  hoar 
arguments  convhicing  indeed,  before  we  depart  from 
the  maxims  of  that  reign,  or  fly  in  the  face  of  this 
great  body  of  strong  and  recent  experience. 

One  of  the  principal  topics  which  was.  then,  and 
has  been  since,  much  employed  by  that  political* 
school,  is  an  affected  terror  of  the  growth  of  an  aris- 
tocratic power,  prejudicial  to  the  rights  of  the  crown, 
and  the  balance  of  the  constitution.  Any  new  pow- 
ers exercised  in  the  House  of  Lords,  or  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  or  by  the  crown,  ought  certainly  to  ex- 
cite the  vigilant  and  anxious  jealousy  of  a  free  people. 
Even  a  new  and  unprecedented  course  of  action  in 
the  whole  legislature,  without  great  and  evident 
reason,  may  be  a  subject  of  just  uneasiness.  I  will 
not  affirm,  that  there  may  not  have  lately  appeared 
in  the  House  of  Lords,  a  disposition  to  some  attempts 
derogatory  to  the  legal  rights  of  the  subject.  If  any 
such  have  really  appeared,  they  have  arisen,  not  from 
a  power  properly  aristocratic,  but  from  the  same  in- 
fluence which  is  charged  with  having  excited  at- 
tempts of  a  similar  nature  in  the  House  of  Commons  ; 
which  House,  if  it  should  have  been  betrayed  into  an 
unfortunate  quarrel  with  its  constituents,  and  in- 
volved in  a  charge  of  the  very  same  nature,  could 
have  neither  power  nor  inclination  to  repel  such  at- 
tempts in  otliers.  Those  attempts  in  the  House  of 
Lords  can  no  more  be  called  aristocratic  proceedings, 
than  the  proceedings  with  regard  to  the  county  of 
Middlesex  in  the  House  of  Commons  can  with  any 
sense  be  called  democratical. 

It  is  true,  that  the  peers  have  a  great  influence  in 

*  See  the  political  writings  of  the  late  Dr.   Brown,  and  many 
others. 


458  THOUGHTS   ON  THE   CAUSE 

the  kingdom,  and  in  every  part  of  the  public  concerns. 
While  they  are  men  of  property,  it  is  impossible  to 
prevent  it,  except  by  such  means  as  m\ist  prevent 
all  property  from  its  natural  operation :  an  event  not 
easily  to  bQ  compassed,  while  property  is  power  ;  nor 
by  any  means  to  be  wished,  while  the  least  notion  ex- 
ists of  the  method  by  which  the  spirit  of  liberty  acts, 
and  of  the  means  by  which  it  is  preserved.  If  any 
particular  peers,  by  their  uniform,  upright,  constitu- 
tional conduct,  by  their  public  and  their  private  vir- 
tues, have  acquired  an  influence  in  the  country ;  the 
people,  on  whose  favor  that  influence  depends,  and 
from  whom  it  arose,  will  never  be  duped  into  an  opin- 
ion, that  such  greatness  in  a  peer  is  the  despotism  of 
an  aristocracy,  when  they  know  and  feel  it  to  be  the 
effect  and  pledge  of  their  own  importance. 

I  am  no  friend  to  aristocracy,  in  the  sense  at  least 
in  which  that  word  is  usually  understood.  If  it  were 
not  a  bad  habit  to  moot  cases  on  the  supposed  ruin  of 
the  constitution,  I  should  be  free  to  declare,  that  if 
it  must  perish,  I  would  rather  by  far  see  it  resolved 
into  any  other  form,  than  lost  in  that  austere  and  in- 
solent domination.  But,  whatever  my  dislikes  may 
be,  my  fears  are  not  upon  that  quarter.  The  ques- 
tion, on  the  influence  of  a  court,  and  of  a  peerage,  is 
not,  which  of  the  two  dangers  is  the  more  eligible, 
but  which  is  the  more  imminent.  He  is  but  a  poor 
observer,  who  has  not  seen,'  that  the  generality  of 
peers,  far  from  supporting  themselves  in  a  state  of  in- 
dependent gn^atness,  are  but  too  apt  to  fall  into  an 
oblivion  of  then-  proper  dignity,  and  to  run  headlong 
into  an  abject  servitude.  Would  to  God  it  were  true, 
that  the  fault  of  our  peers  were  too  much  spirit.  It 
is  wortliy  of  some  observation  that  these  gentlemen, 


OF  THE  PBESENT   DISCONTENTS.  459 

SO  jealous  of  aristocracy,  make  no  complaints  of  tlie 
power  of  those  peers  (neither  few  nor  inconsiderable) 
who  are  always  in  the  train  of  a  court,  and  whose 
whole  weight  must  be  considered  as  a  portion  of  the 
settled  influence  of  the  crown.  This  is  all  safe  and 
right ;  but  if  some  peers  (I  am  very  sorry  they  are 
not  as  many  as  they  ought  to  be)  set  themselves,  in 
the  great  concern  of  peers  and  commons,  against  a 
back-stairs  influence  and  clandestine  government,  then 
the  alarm  begins  ;  then  the  constitution  is  in  danger 
of  being  forced  into  an  aristocracy. 

I  rest  a  little  the  longer  on  this  court  topic,  because 
it  was  much  insisted  upon  at  the  time  of  the  great 
change,  and  has  been  since  frequently  revived  by 
many  of  the  agents  of  that  party  ;  for,  whilst  they  are 
terrifying  the  great  and  opulent  with  the  horrors  of 
mob-government,  they  are  by  other  managers  attempt- 
ing (though  hitherto  with  little  success)  to  alarm  the 
people  with  a  phantom  of  tyranny  in  the  nobles.  All 
this  is  done  upon  their  favorite  principle  of  disunion, 
of  sowing  jealousies  amongst  the  different  orders  of 
the  state,  and  of  disjointing  the  natural  strength  of 
the  kingdom ;  that  it  may  be  rendered  incapable  of 
resisting  the  sinister  designs  of  wicked  men,  who  have 
engrossed  the  royal  power. 

Thus  much  of  the  topics  chosen  by  the  courtiers  to 
recommend  their  system  ;  it  will  be  necessary  to  open 
a  little  more  at  large  the  nature  of  that  party  which 
was  formed  for  its  support.  Without  this,  the  whole 
would  have  been  no  better  than  a  visionary  amuse- 
ment, like  the  scheme  of  Harrington's  political  club, 
and  not  a  business  in  which  the  nation  had  a  real 
concern.  As  a  powerful  party,  and  a  party  con- 
structed on  a  new  principle,  it  is  a  very  inviting  ob« 
ject  of  curiosity. 


460  THOUGHTS   ON    THE   CAUSE 

It  must  be  remembered,  that  since  the  revolution, 
until  the  period  we  are  speaking  of,  the  influence  of 
the  crown  had  been  always  employed  in  supporting 
the  ministers  of  state,  and  in  carrying  on  the  public 
business  according  to  their  opinions.  But  the  party 
now  in  question  is  formed  upon  a  very  different  idea. 
It  is  to  intercept  the  favor,  protection,  and  confidence 
of  the  crown  in  the  passage  to  its  mmisters  ;  it  is  to 
come  between  them  and  their  importance  in  Parlia- 
ment ;  it  is  to  separate  them  from  all  their  natural 
and  acquired  dependencies  ;  it  is  intended  as  the  con- 
trol, not  the  support,  of  administration.  The  ma- 
chinery of  this  system  is  perplexed  in  its  movements, 
and  false  in  its  principle.  It  is  formed  on  a  supposi- 
tion that  the  king  is  something  external  to  his  gov- 
ernment ;  and  that  he  may  be  honored  and  aggran- 
dized, even  by  its  debility  and  disgrace.  The  plan 
proceeds  expressly  on  the  idea  of  enfeebling  the  reg- 
ular executory  power.  It  proceeds  on  the  idea  of 
weakening  the  state  in  order  to  strengthen  the  court. 
The  scheme  depending  entirely  on  distrust,  on  dis- 
connection, on  mutability  by  principle,  on  systematic 
weakness  in  every  particular  member  ;  it  is  impossi- 
ble that  the  total  result  should  be  substantial  strength 
of  any  kind. 

As  a  foundation  of  tlieir  scheme,  the  cabal  have 
established  a  sort  of  rota  in  the  court.  All  sorts  of 
parties,  by  this  moans,  have  been  brouglit  into  admin- 
istration ;  from  whence  few  have  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  escape  without  disgrace  ;  none  at  all  without 
considerable  losses.  In  tiie  beginning  of  each  ar- 
rangement no  professions  of  confidence  and  support 
are  wanting,  to  induce  the  leading  men  to  engage. 
But  while  tho  ministers  of  the  day  appear  in  all  the 


OP  THE   PEESENT   DISCONTENTS.  461 

pomp  and  pride  of  power,  while  they  liave  all  their 
canvas  spread  out  to  the  wind,  and  every  sail  filled 
with  the  fair  and  prosperous  gale  of  royal  favor,  in  a 
short  time  they  find,  they  know  not  how,  a  current, 
which  sets  directly  against  them  :  which  pi'events  all 
progress ;  and  even  drives  them  backwards.  They 
grow  ashamed  and  mortified  in  a  situation,  which, 
by  its  vicinity  to  power,  only  serves  to  remind  them 
the  more  strongly  of  their  insignificance.  They  are 
obliged  either  to  execute  the  orders  of  their  inferiors, 
or  to  see  themselves  opposed  by  the  natural  instru- 
ments of  their  ofiice.  With  the  loss  of  their  dignity 
they  lose  their  temper.  In  their  turn  they  grow 
troublesome  to  that  cabal  which,  whether  it  supports 
or  opposes,  equally  disgraces  and  equally  betrays 
them.  It  is  soon  found  necessary  to  get  rid  of  the 
heads  of  administration  ;  but  it  is  of  the  heads  only. 
As  there  always  are  many  rotten  members  belonging 
to  the  best  connections,  it  is  not  hard  to  persuade 
several  to  continue  in  office  without  their  leaders. 
By  this  means  the  party  goes  out  much  thinner  than 
it  came  in  ;  and  is  only  reduced  in  strength  by  its 
temporary  possession  of  power.  Besides,  if  by  acci- 
dent, or  in  course  of  changes,  that  power  should  be 
recovered,  the  junto  have  thrown  up  a  retrenchment 
of  these  carcasses,  which  may  serve  to  cover  them- 
selves in  a  day  of  danger.  They  conclude,  not  un- 
wisely, that  such  rotten  members  will  become  the 
first  objects  of  disgust  and  resentment  to  their  ancient 
connections. 

They  contrive  to  form  in  the  outward  administra- 
tion two  parties  at  the  least ;  which,  whilst  they  are 
tearing  one  another  to  pieces,  are  both  competitors 
for  the  favor  and  protection  of  the  cabal ;    and,  by 


46 '2  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

their  emulation,  contribute  to  throw  everything  more 
and  more  into  the  hands  of  the  interior  managers. 

A  minister  of  state  will  sometimes  keep  himself 
totally  estranged  from  all  his  colleagues  ;  will  differ, 
from  them  in  their  councils,  will  privately  traverse, 
and  publicly  oppose,  their  measures.  He  will,  how- 
ever, continue  in  his  employment.  Instead  of  suffer- 
ing any  mark  of  displeasure,  he  will  be  distinguished 
by  an  unbounded  profusion  of  court  rewards  and  ca- 
resses ;  because  he  does  what  is  expected,  and  all 
that  is  expected,  from  men  in  office.  He  helps  to 
keep  some  form  of  administration  in  being,  and  keeps 
it  at  the  same  time  as  weak  and  divided  as  possible. 

However,  we  must  take  care  not  to  be  mistaken, 
or  to  imagine  that  such  persons  have  any  weight  in 
their  opposition.  When,  by  them,  administration  is 
convinced  of  its  insignificancy,  they  are  soon  to  be 
convinced  of  their  own.  Tliey  never  are  suffered  to 
succeed  in  their  opposition.  They  and  the  world  are 
to  be  satisfied,  that  neither  office,  nor  authority,  nor 
property,  nor  ability,  eloquence,  counsel,  skill,  or 
union,  are  of  the  least  importance;  but  that  the  mere 
influence  of  the  court,  naked  of  all  support,  and  des- 
titute of  all  management,  is  abundantly  sufficient  for 
all  its  own  purposes. 

Wlien  any  adverse  connection  is  to  be  destroyed, 
the  cabal  seldom  appear  in  the  work  themselves. 
Tliey  find  out  some  person  of  whom  the  party  enter- 
tains a  higli  opinion.  Such  a  person  they  endeavor 
to  delude  with  various  pretences.  They  teach  him 
first  to  distrust,  and  then  to  quarrel  Avith  liis  friends; 
among  whom,  liy  tlie  same  arts,  they  excite  a  similar 
diffidence  of  him  ;  so  tliat  in  this  mulual  fear  and  dis- 
trust, lie  may  suffer  himself  to  be  cmi>loycd  as  the 


OF  THE    PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  463 

instrument  in  the  change  which  is  brought  about. 
Afterwards  they  are  sure  to  destroy  him  in  his  turn, 
by  setting  up  in  his  place  some  person  in  whom  he 
had  himself  reposed  the  greatest  confidence,  and  who 
serves  to  carry  off  a  considerable  part  of  his  adher- 
ents. 

When  such  a  person  has  broke  in  this  manner  with 
his  connections,  he  is  soon  compelled  to  commit  some 
flagrant  act  of  iniquitous,  personal  hostility  against 
some  of  them  (such  as  an  attempt  to  strip  a  partic- 
ular friend  of  his  family  estate),  by  which  the  cabal 
hope  to  render  the  parties  utterly  irreconcilable.  In 
truth,  they  have  so  contrived  matters,  that  people 
have  a  greater  hatred  to  the  subordinate  instruments 
than  to  the  principal  movers. 

As  in  destroying  their  enemies  they  make  use  of 
instruments  not  immediately  belonging  to  their  corps, 
so  in  advancing  their  own  friends  they  pursue  exactly 
the  same  method.  To  promote  any  of  them  to  con- 
siderable rank  or  emolument,  they  commonly  take 
care  that  the  recommendation  shall  pass  through  the 
hands  of  the  ostensible  ministry :  such  a  recommen- 
dation might  however  appear  to  the  world,  as  some 
proof  of  the  credit  of  ministers,  and  some  means  of 
increasing  their  strength.  To  prevent  this,  the  per- 
sons so  advanced  are  directed,  in  all  companies,  indus- 
triously to  declare,  that  they  are  under  no  obligations 
whatsoever  to  administration  ;  that  they  have  received 
their  office  from  another  quarter ;  that  they  are  to- 
tally free  and  independent. 

When  the  faction  has  any  job  of  lucre  to  obtain, 
or  of  vengeance  to  perpetrate,  their  way  is,  to  select, 
for  the  execution,  those  very  persons  to  whose  habits, 
friendships,   principles,  and  declarations,  such   pro- 


464  THOUGHTS   ON    THE   CAUSE 

ceedings  are  publicly  known  to  be  the  most  adverse ; 
at  once  to  render  the  instruments  the  more  odious, 
and  therefore  the  more  dependent,  and  to  prevent  the 
people  from  ever  reposing  a  confidence  in  any  appear- 
ance of  private  friendship  or  public  principle. 

If  the  administration  seem  now  and  then,  from  re- 
missness, or  from  fear  of  making  themselves  disagree- 
able, to  suffer  any  popular  excesses  to  go  unpunished, 
the  cabal  immediately  sets  up  some  creature  of  theirs 
to  raise  a  clamor  against  the  ministers,  as  having 
shamefully  betrayed  the  dignity  of  government.  Then 
they  compel  the  ministry  to  become  active  in  confer- 
ring rewards  and  honors  on  the  persons  who  have  been 
tlie  instruments  of  their  disgrace ;  and,  after  having 
first  vilified  them  with  the  higher  orders  for  suffer- 
ing the  laws  to  sleep  over  the  licentiousness  of  the 
populace,  they  drive  them  (in  order  to  make  amends 
for  their  former  inactivity)  to  some  act  of  atrocious 
violence,  which  renders  them  completely  abhorred  by 
the  people.  They,  who  remember  the  riots  which  at- 
tended the  Middlesex  election,  the  opening  of  the 
present  Parliament,  and  the  transactions  relative  to 
Saint  George's  Fields,  will  not  be  at  a  loss  for  an  ap- 
plication of  these  remarks. 

Tliat  this  body  may  be  enabled  to  compass  all  the 
ends  of  its  institution,  its  members  are  scarcely  ever 
to  aim  at  the  high  and  responsible  offices  of  the  state. 
They  are  distributed  with  art  and  judgment  througli 
all  the  secondary,  but  efficient,  dcpartmenLs  of  ollice, 
and  througli  tlie  households  of  all  the  branches  of  the 
royal  family  :  so  as  on  one  hand  to  occupy  all  th6 
avenues  to  tlie  throne  ;  and  on  the  other  to  forward 
or  frustrate  tbe  execution  of  any  measure,  according 
to  their  own  uitorosts.     For  with  the  credit  and  sup- 


OP  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  465 

port  which  they  are  known  to  have,  though  for  the 
greater  part  in  places  which  are  only  a  genteel  excuse 
for  salary,  they  possess  all  the  influence  of  the  high- 
est posts  ;  and  they  dictate  publicly  in  almost  every- 
thing, even  with  a  parade  of  superiority.  Whenever 
.  they  dissent  (as  it  often  happens)  from  their  nominal 
leaders,  the  trained  part  of  the  senate,  instinctively 
in  the  secret,  is  sure  to  follow  them:  provided  the 
leaders,  sensible  of  their  situation,  do  not  of  them- 
selves recede  in  time  from  their  most  declared  opin- 
ions. This  latter  is  generally  the  case.  It  will  not 
be  conceivable  to  any  one  who  has  not  seen  it,  what 
pleasure  is  taken  by  the  cabal  in  rendering  these 
heads  of  office  thoroughly  contemptible  and  ridicu- 
lous. And  when  they  are  become  so,  they  have  then 
the  best  chance  for  being  well  supported. 

The  members  of  the  court  faction  are  fully  indem- 
nified for  not  holding  places  on  the  slippery  heightb 
of  the  kingdom,  not  only  by  the  lead  in  all  affairs, 
but  also  by  the  perfect  security  in  which  they  enjoy 
less  conspicuous,  but  very  advantageous  situations. 
Their  places  are  in  express  legal  tenure,  or,  in  effect, 
all  of  them  for  life.  Whilst  the  first  and  most  respec- 
table persons  in  the  kingdom  are  tossed  about  like 
tennis-balls,  the  sport  of  a  blind  and  insolent  caprice, 
no  minister  dares  even  to  cast  an  oblique  glance  at 
the  lowest  of  their  body.  If  an  attempt  be  made 
upon  one  of  this  corps,  immediately  he  flies  to  sanctu- 
ary, and  pretends  to  the  most  inviolable  of  all  prom- 
ises. No  conveniency  of  public  arrangement  is  avail- 
able to  remove  any  one  of  them  from  the  specific 
situation  he  holds ;  and  the  slightest  attempt  upon 
one  of  them,  by  the  most  powerful  minister,  is  a  cer- 
tain preliminary  to  his  own  destruction. 

VOL.  I.  30 


466  THOUGHTS   ON  THE   CAUSE 

Conscious  of  their  independence,  they  bear  them- 
selves with  a  lofty  air  to  the  exterior  ministers.  Like 
janissaries,  they  derive  a  kind  of  freedom  from  the 
very  condition  of  their  servitude.  They  may  act  just 
as  they  please ;  provided  they  are  true  to  the  great 
ruling  principle  of  their  institution.  It  is,  therefore, 
not  at  all  wonderful,  that  people  should  be  so  desir- 
ous of  adding  themselves  to  tliat  body,  in  which  they 
may  possess  and  reconcile  satisfactions  the  most  allur- 
ing, and  seemingly  the  most  contradictory  ;  enjoying 
at  once  all  the  spirited  pleasure  of  independence,  and 
all  the  gross  lucre  and  fat  emoluments  of  servitude. 

Here  is  a  sketch,  though  a  slight  one,  of  the  consti- 
tution, laws,  and  policy  of  this  new  court  corporation. 
The  name  by  which  they  choose  to  distinguish  them- 
selves, is  that  of  king^s  men  or  the  king^s  friends^  by 
an  invidious  exclusion  of  tlie  rest  of  his  Majesty's 
most  loyal  and  affectionate  sul)jects.  The  whole  sys- 
tem, comprehending  the  exterior  and  ulterior  admin- 
istrations, is  commonly  called,  in  the  technical  lan- 
guage of  the  court,  double  cabinet;  in  French  or 
English,  as  you  choose  to  pronounce  it. 

Whetlier  all  this  be  a  vision  of  a  distracted  brain, 
or  the  invention  of  a  malicious  lieart,  or  a  real  faction 
in  the  country,  must  be  judged  by  the  appearances 
which  things  have  worn  for  eight  years  past.  Thus 
far  I  am  certain,  that  there  is  not  a  single  pul)lic 
man,  in  or  out  of  office,  who  has  not,  at  some  time  or 
other,  borne  testimony  to  the  trutli  of  wliat  I  have 
now  related.  In  particular,  no  poisons  have  been 
more  strong  in  their  assertions,  and  louder  and  more 
indecent  in  their  coniphiints,  than  those  who  compose 
all  tlie  exterior  part  ol'  ihe  present  adminisi ration  ; 
in  whose  time  that  faction  has  arrived  at  such  an 


OF  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  467 

Height  of  power,  and  of  boldness  in  the  use  of  it,  as 
may,  in  the  end,  perhaps  bring  about  its  total  destruc- 
tion. 

It  is  true,  that  about  four  years  ago,  during  the 
administration  of  the  Marquis  of  Rockingham,  an  at- 
tempt was  made  to  carry  on  government  without 
their  concurrence.  However,  this  was  only  a  tran- 
sient cloud  ;  they  were  hid  but  for  a  moment ;  and 
their  constellation  blazed  out  with  greater  brightness, 
and  a  far  more  vigorous  influence,  some  time  after  it 
was  blown  over.  An  attempt  was  at  that  time  made 
(but  without  any  idea  of  proscription)  to  break  their 
corps,  to  discountenance  their  doctrines,  to  revive 
connections  of  a  different  kind,  to  restore  the  princi- 
ples and  policy  of  the  Whigs,  to  reanimate  the  cause 
of  liberty  by  ministerial  countenance ;  and  then  for 
the  first  time  were  men  seen  attached  in  office  to 
every  principle  they  had  maintained  in  opposition. 
No  one  will  doubt,  that  such  men  were  abhorred  and 
violently  opposed  by  the  court  faction,  and  that  such 
a  system  could  have  but  a  short  duration. 

It  may  appear  somewhat  affected,  that  in  so  much 
discourse  upon  this  extraordinary  party,  I  should  say 
so  little  of  the  Earl  of  Bute,  who  is  the  supposed  head 
of  it.  But  this  was  neither  owing  to  affectation  nor 
inadvertence.  I  have  carefully  avoided  the  introduc- 
tion of  personal  reflections  of  any  kind.  Much  the 
greater  part  of  the  topics  which  have  been  used  to 
blacken  this  nobleman  are  either  unjust  or  frivolous. 
At  best,  they  have  a  tendency  to  give  the  resentment 
of  this  bitter  calamity  a  wrong  direction,  and  to  turn 
a  public  grievance  into  a  mean,  personal,  or  a  dan- 
gerous national  quarrel.  Where  there  is  a  regular 
scheme  of  operations  carried  on,  it  is  the  system,  and 


468  THOUGHTS   ON    THE   CAUSE 

not  any  individual  person  who  acts  in  it,  that  is  truly 
dangerous.  This  system  has  not  arisen  solely  from 
the  ambition  of  Lord  Bute,  but  from  the  circumstan- 
ces which  favored  it,  and  from  an  indifference  to  the 
constitution  which  had  been  for  some  time  growing 
among  our  gentry.  We  should  have  been  tried  with 
it,  if  the  Earl  of  Bute  had  never  existed  ;  and  it  will 
want  neither  a  contriving  head  nor  active  members, 
when  the  Earl  of  Bute  exists  no  longer.  It  is  Jiot, 
therefore,  to  rail  at  Lord  Bute,  but  firmly  to  embody 
against  this  coiu't  party  and  its  practices,  which  can 
afford  us  any  prospect  of  relief  hi  our  present  condi- 
tion. 

Another  motive  induces  me  to  put  the  personal 
consideration  of  Lord  Bute  wholly  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. He  communicates  very  little  in  a  direct  man- 
ner with  the  greater  part  of  our  men  of  business. 
This  has  never  been  his  custom.  It  is  enough  for 
him  that  he  surrounds  them  with  his  creatures.  Sev- 
eral imagine,  therefore,  that  they  have  a  very  good 
excuse  for  doing  all  the  work  of  this  faction,  when 
they  have  no  personal  connection  with  Lord  Bute. 
But  whoever  becomes  a  party  to  an  administration, 
composed  of  insulated  individuals,  without  faith 
pUglited,  tie,  or  common  principle ;  an  administra- 
tion constitutionally  impotent,  because  supported  by 
no  party  in  the  nation  ;  he  who  contributes  to  de- 
stroy the  connections  of  men  and  their  trust  in  one 
another,  or  in  any  sort  to  throw  the  dependence  of 
public  counsels  upon  private  will  and  favor,  possibly 
may  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  Earl  of  Bute.  It 
matters  little  whether  he  l)o  tlie  friend  or  the  enemy 
of  that  particular  person.  But  let  him  bo  who  or 
what  he  will,  he  abets  a  faction  that  is  driving  hard 


OP   THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  469 

to  the  ruin  of  his  country.  He  is  sapping  the  founda- 
tion of  its  liberty,  disturbing  the  sources  of  its  domes- 
tic tranquillity,  weakening  its  government  over  its 
dependencies,  degrading  it  from  all  its  importance  in 
the  system  of  Europe. 

It  is  this  unnatural  infusion  of  a  system  of  favor- 
itism into  a  government  which  in  a  great  part  of  its 
constitution  is  popular,  that  has  raised  the  present 
ferment  in  the  nation.  The  people,  without  entering 
deeply  into  its  principles,  could  plainly  perceive  its 
effects,  in  much  violence,  in  a  great  spirit  of  innova- 
tion, and  a  general  disorder  in  all  the  functions  of 
government.  I  keep  my  eye  solely  on  this  system ; 
if  I  speak  of  those  measures  which  have  arisen  from 
it,  it  will  be  so  far  only  as  they  illustrate  the  general 
scheme.  This  is  the  fountain  of  all  those  bitter  wa- 
ters of  which,  through  an  hundred  different  conduits, 
we  have  drunk  until  we  are  ready  to  burst.  The 
discretionary  power  of  the  crown  in  the  formation  of 
ministry,  abused  by  bad  or  weak  men,  has  given  rise 
to  a  system,  which,  without  directly  violating  the  let-  * 
ter  of  any  law,  operates  against  the  spirit  of  the 
whole  constitution. 

A  plan  of  favoritism  for  our  executory  government  is 
essentially  at  variance  with  the  plan  of  our  legislature. 
One  great  end  undoubtedly  of  a  mixed  government 
like  ours,  composed  of  monarchy,  and  of  controls, 
on  the  part  of  the  higher  people  and  the  lower,  is 
that  the  prince  shall  not  be  able  to  violate  the  laws. 
This  is  useful  indeed  and  fundamental.  But  this, 
even  at  first  view,  is  no  more  than  a  negative  ad- 
vantage ;  an  armor  merely  defensive.  It  is  therefore 
next  in  order,  and  equal  in  importance,  that  the  dis- 
cretionary powers  which  are  necessarily  vested  in  the 


470  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

monarch,  whether  for  the  execution  of  the  Imvs,  or  for 
the  nomination  to  magistracy  and  office,  or  for  conduct- 
ing the  affairs  of  peace  and  tvar,  or  for  ordering  the 
revenue,  should  all  he  exercised  upon  public  principles 
and  national  grou7ids,  and  not  on  the  likings  or  prejvr 
dices,  the  intrigues  or  p>olicies,  of  a  court.     This,  I  said, 
is  equal  in  importance  to  the  securing  a  government 
according  to  law.     The  laws  reach  but  a  very  little 
way.     Constitute  government  how  you  please,  infi- 
nitely the  greater  part  of  it  must  depend  upon  the 
exercise  of  the  powers  which  are  left  at  large  to 
the  prudence  and  uprightness  of  ministers  of  state. 
Even  all  the  use  and  potency  of  the  laws  depends 
upon  them.     Without  them,  your  commonwealth,  is 
no  better  than  a  scheme  upon  paper ;  and  not  a  liv- 
ing, active,  effective  constitution.     It  is  possible  that 
through  negligence,  or  ignorance,  or  design  artfully 
conducted,  ministers  may  suffer  one  part  of  govern- 
ment to  languish,  another  to  be  perverted  from  its 
inirpt)ses,  and  every  valuable  interest  of  the  country 
to  fall  into  ruin  and  decay,  without  possibility  of  fix- 
ing any  single  act  on  which  a  criminal  prosecution 
can  be  justly  grounded.     The  due  arrangement  of 
men  in  the  active  part  of  the  state,  far  from  being 
foreign  to  the  purposes  of  a  wise  government,  ouglit 
to  be  among  its  very  first  and  dearest  objects.     When, 
therefore,  the  abettors  of  the  new  system  tell  us,  that 
between  them  and  their  opposers  there  is  nothing  but 
a  struggle  for  })ower,  and  that  therefore  wc  are  no 
ways  concerned  in  it;  wc  must  tell  those  wlio  liavo 
the  impudence  to  insult  us  in  this  manner,  that,  of 
all  f.hings,  wc  ought  to  be  the  most  concerned  who,, 
and  what  sort  of  nuMi  thcjy  arc  that  liold  the  trust  of 
evei-ylhing  that  is  dear  to  us.     Nothing  can  render 


OP  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  471 

this  a  point  of  indifference  to  the  nation,  but  what 
must.eitlier  render  us  totally  desperate,  or  soothe  us 
into  the  security  of  idiots.  We  must  soften  into  a 
credulity  below  the  niilkiness  of  infancy  to  think  all 
men  virtuous.  We  must  be  tainted  with  a  malignity 
truly  diabolical  to  believe  all  the  world  to  be  equally 
wicked  and  corrupt.  Men  are  in  public  life  as  in  pri- 
vate, some  good,  some  evil.  The  elevation  of  the 
one,  and  the  depression  of  the  other,  are  the  first  ob- 
jects of  all  true  policy.  But  that  form  of  govern- 
ment, which,  neither  in  its  direct  institutions,  nor  in 
their  immediate  tendency,  has  contrived  to  tlirow  its 
affairs  into  the  most  trustworthy  hands,  but  has  left 
its  whole  executory  system  to  be  disposed  of  agreea- 
bly to  the  uncontrolled  pleasure  of  any  one  man, 
however  excellent  or  virtuous,  is  a  plan  of  polity  de- 
fective not  only  in  that  member,  but  consequentially 
erroneous  in  every  part  of  it. 

In  arbitrary  governments,  the  constitution  of  the 
ministry  follows  the  constitution  of  the  legislature. 
Both  the  law  and  the  magistrate  are  the  creatures  of 
will.  It  must  be  so.  Nothing,  indeed,  will  appear 
more  certain,  on  any  tolerable  consideration  of  this 
matter,  than  that  every  sort  of  government  ought  to  have 
its  administration  correspondent  to  its  legislature.  If  it 
should  be  otherwise,  things  must  fall  into  an  hideous 
disorder.  The  people  of  a  free  commonwealth,  who 
have  taken  such  care  that  their  laws  should  be  the  re- 
sult of  general  consent,  cannot  be  so  senseless  as  to 
suffer  their  executory  system  to  be  composed  of  per- 
sons on  whom  they  have  no  dependence,  and  whom  no 
proofs  of  the  public  love  and  confidence  have  recom- 
mended to  tliose  powers,  upon  the  use  of  which  the 
very  being  of  the  state  depends. 


472  THOUGHTS   ON    THE   CAUSE 

The  popular  election  of  magistrates,  and  popular 
disposition  of  rewards  and  honors,  is  one  of  the  first 
advantages  of  a  free  state.  Without  it,  or  something 
equivalent  to  it,  perhaps  the  people  cannot  long  enjoy 
the  substance  of  freedom  ;  certainly  none  of  the  vivi- 
fying energy  of  good  government.  The  frame  of  our 
commonwealth  did  not  admit  of  such  an  actual  elec- 
tion :  but  it  provided  as  well,  and  (while  the  spirit  of 
the  constitution  is  preserved)  better  for  all  the  effects 
of  it  than  by  the  method  of  suffrage  in  any  democratic 
state  whatsoever.  It  had  always,  until  of  late,  been 
held  the  first  duty  of  Parliament  to  refuse  to  support 
government,  until  j^oiver  was  in  the  hands  of  persons 
who  were  acceptable  to  the  people,  or  while  factions  pre- 
dominated in  the  court  in  ivhich  the  nation  had  no  confi- 
dence. Thus  all  the  good  effects  of  popular  election 
were  supposed  to  be  secured  to  us,  without  the  mis- 
chiefs attending  on  perpetual  intrigue,  and  a  distinct 
canvass  for  every  particular  office  througliout  tlic  body 
of  tbe  people.  This  was  the  most  noble  and  refined 
part  of  our  constitution.  The  people,  by  tlieir  repre- 
sentatives and  grandees,  were  intrusted  with  a  delib- 
erative power  in  making  laws  ;  the  king  with  the 
control  of  his  negative.  The  king  was  intrusted  with 
the  deliberative  choice  and  the  election  to  office  ;  the 
people  had  the  negative  in  a  Parliamentary  refusal  to 
sup|)ort.  Formerly  this  power  of  control  was  what 
kept  ministers  in  awe  of  Parliaments,  and  Parliaments 
in  reverence  with  the  people.  If  the  use  of  this  pow- 
(;r  of  control  on  the  system  and  persons  of  adminis- 
tration is  gone,  everything  is  lost,  Parlininont  and 
all.  We  may  assure  ourselves,  that  if  Parliament 
will  tamely  sec  evil  men  take  possession  of  all  the 
strongholds  of  their  country,  and  allow  them   time 


OP  THE  PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  473 

and  means  to  fortify  themselves,  under  a  pretence  of 
giving  them  a  fair  trial,  and  upon  a  hope  of  discover- 
ing, whether  they  will  not  be  reformed  by  power,  and 
whether  their  measures  will  not  be  better  than  their 
morals  ;  such  a  Parliament  will  give  countenance  to 
their  measures  also,  whatever  that  Parliament  may 
pretend,  and  whatever  those  measures  may  be. 

Every  good  political  institution  must  have  a  pre- 
ventive operation  as  well  as  a  remedial.  It  ought 
to  have  a  natural  tendency  to  exclude  bad  men  from 
government,  and  not  to  trust  for  the  safety  of  the 
state  to  subsequent  punishment  alone  ;  punishment, 
which  has  ever  been  tardy  and  uncertain  ;  and  which, 
when  power  is  suffered  in  bad  hands,  may  chance  to 
fall  rather  on  the  injured  than  the  criminal. 

Before  men  are  put  forward  into  the  great  trusts 
of  the  state,  they  ought  by  their  conduct  to  have  ob- 
tained such  a  degree  of  estimation  in  their  country, 
as  may  be  some  sort  of  pledge  and  security  to  the 
public,  that  they  will  not  abuse  those  trusts.  It  is  no 
mean  security  for  a  proper  use  of  power,  that  a  man 
has  shown  by  the  general  tenor  of  his  actions,  that 
the  affection,  the  good  opinion,  the  confidence  of  his 
fellow-citizens  have  been  among  the  principal  objects 
of  his  life ;  and  that  he  has  owed  none  of  the  gra- 
dations of  his  power  or  fortune  to  a  settled  contempt, 
or  occasional  forfeiture  of  their  esteem. 

That  man  who  before  he  comes  into  power  has  no 
friends,  or  who  coming  into  power  is  obliged  to  de- 
sert his  friends,  or  who  losing  it  has  no  friends  to 
sympathize  with  him  ;  he  who  has  no  sway  among 
any  part  of  the  landed  or  commercial  interest,  but 
whose  whole  importance  has  begun  with  his  office, 
and  is  sure  to  end  with  it,  is  a  person  who  ought 


474  THOUGHTS   ON   THE  CAUSE 

never  to  be  suffered  by  a  controlling  Parliament  to 
continue  in  any  of  those  situations  wliicli  confer  the 
lead  and  direction  of  all  our  public  affairs  ;  because 
such  a  man  has  no  connection  with  the  interest  of  the 
'people. 

Those  knots  or  cabals  of  men  who  liave  got  to- 
gether, avowedly  without  any  public  principle,  in  or- 
der to  sell  their  conjunct  iniquity  at  the  higher  rate, 
and  are  therefore  universally  odious,  ought  never  to 
be  suffered  to  domineer  in  the  state  ;  because  they 
have  no  connection  with  the  sentiments  and  opinions  of 
the  people. 

These  are  considerations  which  in  my  opinion  en- 
force the  necessity  of  having  some  better  reason,  in  a 
free  country,  and  a  free  Parliament,  for  supporting 
the  ministers  of  the  crown,  than  that  short  one,  That 
the  king  has  thought  proper  to  appoint  them.  There 
is  something  very  courtly  in  this.  But  it  is  a  princi- 
ple pregnant  with  all  sorts  of  mischief,  in  a  constitu- 
tion like  ours,  to  turn  the  views  of  active  men  from 
the  country  to  the  court.  Whatever  be  the  road 
to  power,  that  is  the  road  which  will  be  trod.  If  the 
opinion  of  the  country  be  of  no  use  as  a  means  of 
power  or  consideration,  the  qualities  which  usually 
procure  that  opinion  will  be  no  longer  cultivated. 
And  wliether  it  will  be  right,  in  a  state  so  popular  in 
its  constitution  as  ours,  to  leave  ambition  witliout 
popular  motives,  and  to  trust  all  to  the  operation  of 
])nre  virtue  in  the  minds  of  kings,  and  ministers,  aiul 
public  men,  must  be  submitted  to  the  judgment  and 
good  sense  of  tliopco]»le  of  p]ngland. 

Cunning  men  are  luire  aj)t  to  break  in,  and,  with- 
out directly  controverting  the  princi))le,  to  raise  ob- 
jections from  the  diniculty  under  whicli  the  sovereign 


OF  THE  PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  476 

labors,  to  distinguish  the  genuine  voice  and  senti- 
ments of  his  people,  from  the  clamor  of  a  faction,  by 
which  it  is  so  easily  counterfeited.  The  nation,  they 
say,  is  generally  divided  into  parties,  with  views  and 
passions  utterly  irreconcilable.  If  the  king  should 
put  his  affairs  into  the  hands  of  any  one  of  them,  he 
is  sure  to  disgust  the  rest;  if  he  select  particular 
men  from  among  them  all,  it  is  a  hazard  that  he  dis- 
gusts them  all.  Those  who  are  left  out,  however  di- 
vided before,  will  soon  run  into  a  body  of  opposition  ; 
which,  being  a  collection  of  many  discontents  into 
one  focus,  will  without  doubt  be  hot  and  violent 
enough.  Paction  will  make  its  cries  resound  through 
the  nation,  as  if  the  whole  were  in  an  uproar,  when 
by  far  the  majority,  and  much  the  better  part,  will 
seem  for  a  while  as  it  were  annihilated  by  the  quiet 
in  which  their  virtue  and  moderation  incline  them  to 
enjoy  the  blessings  of  government.  Besides  that  the 
opinion  of  the  mere  vulgar  is  a  miserable  rule  even 
with  regard  to  themselves,  on  account  of  their  vio- 
lence and  instability.  So  that  if  you  were  to  gratify 
them  in  their  humor  to-day,  that  very  gratification 
would  be  a  gro«jid  of  their  dissatisfaction  on  the 
next.  Now  as  all  these  rules  of  public  opinion  are 
to  be  collected  with  great  difficulty,  and  to  be  applied 
with  equal  uncertainty  as  to  the  effect,  what  better 
can  a  king  of  England  do,  than  to  employ  such  men 
as  he  finds  to  have  views  and  inclinations  most  con- 
formable to  his  own  ;  who  are  least  infected  with 
pride  and  self-will ;  and  who  are  least  moved  by  such 
popular  humors  as  are  perpetually  traversing  his  de- 
signs, and  disturbing  his  service  ;  trusting  that,  wlien 
he  means  no  ill  to  his  people,  he  will  be  supported  in 
his  appointments,  whether  he  chooses  to  keep  or  to 


476  THOUGHTS   ON  THE   CAUSE 

change,  as  his  private  judgment  or  his  pleasure  leads 
him  ?  He  will  find  a  sure  resource  in  the  real  weight 
and  influence  of  the  crown,  when  it  is  not  suffered  to 
become  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  a  faction. 

I  will  not  pretend  to  say,  that  there  is  nothing  at 
all  in  this  mode  of  reasoning ;  because  I  will  not  as- 
sert that  there  is  no  difficulty  in  the  art  of  govern- 
ment. Undoubtedly  the  very  best  administration 
must  encounter  a  great  deal  of  opposition  ;  and  the 
very  worst  will  find  more  support  than  it  deserves. 
Sufficient  appearances  will  never  be  wanting  to  those 
who  have  a  mind  to  deceive  themselves.  It  is  a  fal- 
lacy in  constant  use  with  those  who  would  level  all 
things,  and  confound  right  with  wrong,  to  insist  upon 
the  inconveniences  which  are  attached  to  every  choice, 
without  taking  into  consideration  the  different  weight 
and  consequence  of  those  inconveniences.  The  ques- 
tion is  not  concerning  absolute  discontent  or  perfect 
satisfaction  in  government ;  neither  of  which  can  be 
pure  and  unmixed  at  any  time,  or  upon  any  system. 
The  controversy  is  about  that  degree  of  good  humor 
in  the  people,  which  may  possibly  be  attained,  and 
ought  certainly  to  be  looked  for.  While  some  poli- 
ticians may  be  waiting  to  know  wliether  the  sense 
of  every  individual  be  against  them,  accurately  distin- 
guishing the  vulgar  from  the  better  sort,  drawing  linos 
between  the  enterprises  of  a  faction  and  the  efforts 
of  a  people,  they  may  chance  to  see  the  government, 
which  they  are  so  nicely  weighing,  and  dividing,  and 
distinguishing,  tumble  to  the  ground  in  the  midst  of 
their  wise  deliberation.  Prudent  men,  when  so  great 
an  object  as  the  security  of  government,  or  even  its 
peace,  is  at  stake,  will  not  run  the  risk  of  a  decision 
which  may  be  fatal  to  it.     They  who  can  read  the 


OF  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  477 

political  sky  will  see  a  hurricane  in  a  clond  no  big- 
ger than  a  hand  at  the  very  edge  of  the  horizon,  and 
will  run  into  the  first  harbor.  No  lines  can  be  laid 
down  for  civil  or  political  wisdom.  They  are  a  mat- 
ter incapable  of  exact  definition.  But,  though  no 
man  can  draw  a  stroke  between  the  confines  of  day 
and  night,  yet  light  and  darkness  are  upon  tlie  whole 
tolerably  distinguishable.  Nor  will  it  be  impossible 
for  a  prince  to  find  out  such  a  mode  of  government, 
and  such  persons  to  administer  it,  as  will  give  a  great 
degree  of  content  to  his  people  ;  without  any  curious 
and  anxious  research  for  that  abstract,  universal,  per- 
fect harmony,  which  while  he  is  seeking,  he  abandons 
those  means  of  ordinary  tranquillity  which  are  in  his 
power  witliout  any  research  at  all. 

It  is  not  more  the  duty  than  it  is  the  interest  of  a 
prince,  to  aim  at  giving  tranquillity  to  his  govern- 
ment. But  those  who  advise  him  may  have  an  interest 
in  disorder  and  confusion.  If  the  opinion  of  the  peo- 
ple is  against  them,  they  will  naturally  wish  that  it 
should  have  no  prevalence.  Here  it  is  that  the  peo- 
ple must  on  their  part  show  themselves  sensible  of 
their  own  value.  Their  whole  importance,  in  the 
first  instance,  and.  afterwards  their  whole  freedom,  is 
at  stake.  Their  freedom  cannot  long  survive  their 
importance.  Here  it  is  that  the  natural  strength  of 
the  kingdom,  the  great  peers,  the  leading  landed  gen- 
tlemen, the  opulent  merchants  and  manufacturers, 
the  substantial  yeomanry,  must  interpose,  to  rescue 
tlicir  prince,  themselves,  and  their  posterity. 

We  are  at  present  at  issue  upon  this  point.  We 
are  in  the  great  crisis  of  this  contention ;  and  the 
part  which  men  take,  one  way  or  other,  will  serve  to 
discriminate   their  characters   and   their   principles. 


478  THOUGHTS  ON    THE   CAUSE 

Until  the  matter  is  decided,  the  country  will  re- 
main in  its  present  confusion.  For  while  a  system 
of  administration  is  attempted,  entirely  repugnant  to 
the  genius  of  the  people,  and  not  conformable  to  the 
plan  of  their  government,  everything  must  necessa- 
rily be  disordered  for  a  time,  until  this  system  de- 
stroys the  constitution,  or  the  constitution  gets  the 
better  of  this  system. 

There  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  peculiar  venom  and  ma- 
lignity in  this  political  distemper  beyond  any  that  I 
have  heard  or  read  of.  In  former  times  the  project- 
ors of  arbitrary  government  attacked  only  the  liber- 
ties of  their  country ;  a  design  surely  mischievous 
enough  to  have  satisfied  a  mind  of  the  most  unruly 
ambition.  But  a  system  unfavorable  to  freedom  may 
be  so  formed,  as  considerably  to  exalt  the  grandeur 
of  the  state ;  and  men  may  find,  in  the  pride  and 
splendor  of  that  prosperity,  some  sort  of  consolation 
for  tlie  loss  of  their  solid  privileges.  Indeed  the  in- 
crease of  the  power  of  the  state  has  often  been  urged 
by  artful  men,  as  a  pretext  for  some  abridgment  of 
the  pul)lic  liberty.  But  the  scheme  of  the  junto  un- 
der consideration,  not  only  strikes  a  palsy  into  every 
nerve  of  our  free  constitution,  but  in  the  same  degree 
benumbs  and  stupefies  the  whole  executive  power: 
rcnderijig  government  in  all  its  grand  operations  lan- 
guid, uncertain,  ineffective  ;  making  ministers  fearful 
of  attoinpting,  and  incapable  of  executing  any  useful 
plan  of  domestic  arrangement,  or  of  foreign  politics. 
It  tends  to  jiroduce  neither  the  security  of  a  free  gov- 
ernniciit,  nor  the  energy  of  a  nionaicliy  that  is  abso- 
lute. Accordingly  the  crown  has  d\vindK;d  away,  in 
projtortion  to  the  unnatural  and  turgid  growth  of  this 
excrescence!  on  the  court. 


OF  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  479 

The  interior  ministry  are  sensible,  that  war  is  a  sit- 
uation which  sets  in  its  full  light  the  value  of  the 
hear-ts  of  a  people ;  and  they  well  know,  that  the  be- 
ginning of  the  importance  of  the  people  must  be  the 
end  of  theirs.  For  this  reason  they  discover  upon  all 
occasions  the  utmost  fear  of  everything,  which  by  pos- 
sibility may  lead  to  such  an  event.  I  do  not  mean 
that  they  manifest  any  of  that  pious  fear  vsrhich  is 
backward  to  commit  the  safety  of  the  country  to  the 
dubious  experiment  of  war.  Such  a  fear,  being  the 
tender  sensation  of  virtue,  excited,  as  it  is  regulated, 
by  reason,  frequently  shows  itself  in  a  seasonable  bold- 
ness, which  keeps  danger  at  a  distance,  by  seeming  to 
despise  it.  Their  fear  betrays  to  the  first  glance  of 
the  eye,  its  true  cause,  and  its  real  object.  Foreign 
powers,  confident  in  the  knowledge  of  their  charac- 
ter, have  not  scrupled  to  violate  the  most  solemn 
treaties ;  and,  in  defiance  of  them,  to  make  conquests 
in  the  midst  of  a  general  peace,  and  in  the  heart  of 
Europe.  Such  was  the  conquest  of  Corsica,  by  the 
professed  enemies  of  the  freedom  of  mankind,  in  de- 
fiance of  those  who  were  formerly  its  professed  defend- 
ers. We  have  had  just  claims  upon  the  same  powers  : 
rights  which  ought  to  have  been  sacred  to  them  as 
well  as  to  us,  as  they  had  their  origin  in  our  lenity 
and  generosity  towards  France  and  Spain  in  the  day 
of  their  great  humiliation.  Such  I  call  the  ransom 
of  Manilla,  and  the  demand  on  France  for  the  East 
India  prisoners.  But  these  powers  put  a  just  confi- 
dence in  their  resource  of  the  double  cabinet.  These 
demands  (one  of  them  at  least)  are  hastening  fast 
towards  an  acquittal  by  prescription.  Oblivion  ])egins 
to  spread  her  cobwebs  over  all  our  spirited  remon- 
strances.    Some  of  the  most  valuable  branches  of  our 


480  THOUGHTS    ON    THE   CAUSE 

trade  are  also  on  the  point  of  perishing  from  the  same 
cause.  I  do  not  mean  those  branches  which  bear 
svithout  the  hand  of  the  \ine-dresser ;  I  mean  those 
which  the  policy  of  treaties  had  formerly  secured  to 
us  ;  I  mean  to  mark  and  distinguish  the  trade  of  Por- 
tugal, the  loss  of  which,  and  the  power  of  the  cabal, 
have  one  and  the  same  era. 

If  by  any  chance,  the  ministers  who  stand  before 
the  curtain  possess  or  affect  any  spirit,  it  makes  little 
or  no  impression.  Foreign  courts  and  ministers,  who 
were  among  the  first  to  discover  and  to  profit  by  this 
invention  of  the  double  cabinet,  attend  very  little  to 
their  remonstrances.  They  know  that  those  shad- 
ows of  ministers  have  nothing  to  do  in  the  ultimate 
disposal  of  things.  Jealousies  and  animosities  are 
sedulously  nourished  in  the  outward  administration, 
and  have  been  even  considered  as  a  causa  sine  qua 
non  in  its  constitution :  thence  foreign  courts  have  a 
certainty,  that  nothing  can  be  done  by  common  coun- 
sel in  this  nation.  If  one  of  those  ministers  officially 
takes  lip  a  business  with  spirit,  it  serves  only  the  bet- 
ter to  signalize  tlie  meanness  of  the  rest,  and  the  dis- 
cord of  them  all.  His  colleagues  in  office  are  in 
haste  to  shake  him  off,  and  to  disclaim  the  whole  of 
his  proceedings.  Of  this  nature  was  that  astonishing 
transaction,  in  which  Lord  Rochford,  our  ambassador 
at  Paris,  remonstrated  against  the  attempt  iipon  Cor- 
sica, in  consequence  of  a  direct  authority  from  Lord 
Sholburne.  This  remonstrance  the  French  minister 
treated  with  the  contempt  that  was  natural :  as  he 
was  assured,  from  the  ambassador  of  his  court  to 
ours,  that  these  ordtn-s  of  Ijord  Sholburne  were  not 
su|)portod  by  the  rest  of  the  (1  had  like  to  have  said 
Britisli)  administration.     Lord  Rochford,  a  man  of 


OP   THE   PRESENT    DISCONTENTS.  ^  481 

spirit,  could  not  endure  this  situation.  The  conse- 
quences were,  however,  ciirious.  He  returns  from 
Paris,  and  comes  home  full  of  anger.  Lord  Shel- 
burne,  who  gave  the  orders,  is  obliged  to  give  up  the 
seals.  Lord  Rochford,  who  obeyed  these  orders,  re- 
ceives them.  He  goes,  however,  into  another  depart- 
ment of  the  same  office,  that  he  might  not  be  obliged 
officially  to  acquiesce,  in  one  situation,  under  what 
he  had  officially  remonstrated  against,  in  another. 
At  Paris,  the  Duke  of  Choiseul  considered  this  office 
arrangement  as  a  compliment  to  him :  here  it  was 
spoken  of  as  an  attention  to  the  delicacy  of  Lord 
Rochford.  But  whether  the  compliment  was  to  one 
or  both,  to  this  nation  it  was  the  same.  By  this 
transaction  the  condition  of  our  court  lay  exposed  in 
all  its  nakedness.  Our  office  correspondence  has  lost 
all  pretence  to  authenticity  :  British  policy  is  brought 
into  derision  in  those  nations,  that  a  while  ago  trem- 
bled at  the  power  of  our  arms,  whilst  they  looked  up 
with  confidence  to  the  equity,  firmness,  and  candor, 
which  shone  in  all  our  negotiations.  I  represent  this 
matter  exactly  in  the  light  in  which  it  has  been  uni- 
versally received. 

Such  has  been  the  aspect  of  our  foreign  politics, 
under  the  influence  of  a  double  cabinet.  With  such 
an  arrangement  at  court,  it  is  impossible  it  should 
have  been  otherwise.  Nor  is  it  possible  that  this 
scheme  should  have  a  better  effect  upon  the  govern- 
ment of  our  dependencies,  the  first,  the  dearest,  and 
most  delicate  objects,  of  the  interior  policy  of  this  em- 
pire. The  colonies  know,  that  administration  is  sep- 
arated from  the  court,  divided  within  itself,  and 
detested  by  the  nation.  The  double  cabinet  has,  in 
both  the  parts  of  it,  shown  the  most  malignant  dis- 

VOL.  I.  31 


482  THOUGHTS   ON    THE   CAUSE 

positions  towards   them,  without   being   able  to  do 
them  the  smallest  mischief. 

They  are  convinced,  by  sufficient  experience,  that 
no  plan,  either  of  lenity,  or  rigor,  can  be  pursued 
with  uniformity  and  perseverance.  Therefore  they 
turn  their  eyes  entirely  from  Great  Britain,  where 
they  have  neither  dependence  on  friendship,  nor  aj.)- 
prehension  from  enmity.  They  look  to  themselves, 
and  their  own  arrangements.  They  grow  every  day 
into  alienation  from  this  country ;  and  whilst  they 
are  becoming  disconnected  with  our  government,  we 
have  not  the  consolation  to  find,  that  they  are  even 
friendly  in  their  new  independence.  Nothing  can 
equal  the  futility,  the  weakness,  the  rashness,  the 
timidity,  the  perpetual  contradiction  in  the  manage- 
ment of  our  affairs  in  that  part  of  tlie  world.  A  vol- 
ume might  be  written  on  this  melancholy  subject; 
but  it  were  better  to  leave  it  entirely  to  the  reflec- 
tions of  the  reader  himself,  than  not  to  treat  it  in  the 
extent  it  deserves. 

In  what  manner  our  domestic  economy  is  affected 
by  this  system,  it  is  needless  to  explain.  It  is  the 
perpetual  subject  of  their  own  complaints. 

The  court  i)arty  resolve  the  whole  into  faction 
Having  said  something  before  upon  this  subject,  1 
shall  only  observe  here,  that,  when  they  give  this  ac- 
count of  the  prevalence  of  fiiction,  they  present  no 
viery  favorable  aspect  of  the  confidence  of  the  people 
in  their  own  government.  They  may  be  assured,  that 
liowcvcr  they  anuise  themselves  with  a  variety  of  pro- 
jects for  sul»stitnting  something  else  in  the  place  of 
that  great  and  only  foundation  of  government,  the 
confidence  of  the  people,  every  attempt  will  but  make 
their  condition  worse.     When  ukmi  imagine  that  their 


OF   THE    PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  483 

food  is  only  a  cover  for  poison,  and  when  they  neither 
love  nor  trust  the  hand  that  serves  it,  it  is  not  the 
name  of  the  roast  beef  of  Old  England,  that  will  per- 
suade them  to  sit  down  to  the  table  that  is  spread  for 
them.  When  the  people  conceive  that  laws,  and  tri- 
bunals, and  even  popular  assemblies,  are  perverted 
from  the  ends  of  their  institution,  they  find  in  those 
names  of  degenerated  establishments  only  new  mo- 
tives to  discontent.  Those  bodies,  which,  when  full 
of  life  and  beauty,  lay  in  their  arms,  and  were  their 
joy  and  comfort,  when  dead  and  putrid,  become  but 
the  more  loathsome  from  remembrance  of  former  en- 
dearments. A  sullen  gloom  and  furious  disorder 
prevail  by  fits  ;  the  nation  loses  its  relish  for  peace 
and  prosperity ;  as  it  did  in  that  season  of  fulness 
which  opened  our  troubles  inthe  time  of  Charles  the 
First.  A  species  of  men  to  whom  a  state  of  order 
would  become  a  sentence  of  obscurity  are  nourished 
into  a  dangerous  magnitude  by  the  heat  of  intestine 
disturbances  ;  and  it  is  no  wonder  that,  by  a  sort  of 
sinister  piety,  they  cherish,  in  their  turn,  tjie  disor- 
ders which  are  the  parents  of  all  their  consequence. 
Superficial  observers  consider  such  persons  as  the 
cause  of  the  public  uneasiness,  when,  in  truth,  they 
are  nothing  more  than  the  effect  of  it.  Good  men 
look  upon  this  distracted  scene  with  sorrow  and  in- 
dignation. Their  hands  are  tied  behind  them.  They 
are  despoiled  of  all  the  power  which  might  enable 
them  to  reconcile  the  strength  of  government  with 
the  rights  of  the  people.  They  stand  in  a  most  dis- 
tressing alternative.  But  in  the  election  among  evils 
they  hope  better  things  from  temporary  confusion, 
than  from  established  servitude.  In  the  mean  time, 
the  voice  of  law  is  not  to  be  heard.     Fierce  licentious- 


484  THOUGHTS   ON    THE   CAUSE 

ness  begets  violent  restraints.  The  military  arm  is 
the  sole  reliance ;  and  then,  call  your  constitution 
what  you  please,  it  is  the  sword  that  governs.  The 
civil  power,  like  every  other  tliat  calls  m  the  aid  of 
an  ally  stronger  than  itself,  perishes  by  the  assistance 
it  receives.  But  the  contrivers  of  this  scheme  of  gov- 
ernment will  not  trust  solely  to  the  military  power ; 
because  they  are  cunning  men.  Their  restless  and 
crooked  spirit  drives  them  to  rake  in  the  dirt  of  every 
kind  of  expedient.  Unable  to  rule  the  multitude, 
they  endeavor  to  raise  divisions  amongst  them.  One 
mob  is  hired  to  destroy  another ;  a  procedure  which 
at  once  encourages  the  boldness  of  the  populace,  and 
justly  increases  their  discontent.  Men  become  pen- 
sioners of  state  on  account  of  their  abilities  in  the 
array  of  riot,  and  the  discipline  of  confusion.  Gov- 
ernment is  put  under  the  disgraceful  necessity  of 
protecting  from  the  severity  of  the  laws  that  very 
licentiousness,  which  the  laws  had  been  before  vio- 
lated to  repress.  Everything  partakes  of  the  original 
disorder.  Anarchy  predominates  without  freedom, 
and  servitude  without  submission  or  subordination. 
These  are  the  consequences  inevitable  to  our  public 
peace,  from  the  scheme  of  rendering  the  executory 
government  at  once  odious  and  feeble  ;  of  freeing  ad- 
ministration from  the  constitutional  and  salutary  con- 
trol of  Parliament,  and  inventing  for  it  a  )iew  control, 
unknown  to  the  constitution,  an  interior  cabinet; 
wliich  lirings  the  whole  body  of  government  into  con- 
fusion and  contempt. 

After  having  stated,  as  sliortly  as  I  am  able,  the 
efiects  of  this  system  on  our  foreign  afl'airs,  on  the 
policy  of  our  government  with  regard  to  our  depen- 
doncics,  and  on  the  intei'ior  economy  of  the  common- 


OP   THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  485 

wealth  ;  there  remains  only,  in  this  part  of  my  design, 
to  say  something  of  the  grand  principle  which  first 
recommended  this  system  at  conrt.  The  pretence 
was,  to  prevent  the  king  from  being  enslaved  by  a 
faction,  and  made  a  prisoner  in  his  closet.  This 
scheme  might  have  been  expected  to  answer  at  least 
its  own  end,  and  to  indemnify  the  king,  in  his  per- 
sonal capacity,  for  all  the  confusion  into  which  it  has 
thrown  his  government.  But  has  it  in  reality  an- 
swered this  purpose  ?  I  am  sure,  if  it  had,  every 
aifectionate  subject  would  have  one  motive  for  endur- 
ing with  patience  all  the  evils  which  attend  it. 

In  order  to  come  at  the  truth  in  this  matter,  it  may 
not  be  amiss  to  consider  it  somewhat  in  detail.  I 
speak  here  of  the  king,  and  not  of  the  crown ;  the 
interests  of  which  we  have  already  touched.  Inde- 
pendent of  that  greatness  which  a  king  possesses 
merely  by  being  a  representative  of  the  national  dig- 
nity, the  things  in  wliich  he  may  have  an  individual 
interest  seem  to  be  these  :  —  wealth  accumulated  ; 
wealth  spent  in  magnificence,  pleasure,  or  benefi- 
cence ;  personal  respect  and  attention  ;  and,  above 
all,  private  ease  and  repose  of  mind.  These  com- 
pose the  inventory  of  prosperous  circumstances, 
whether  they  regard  a  prince  or  a  subject ;  their 
enjoyments  differing  only  in  the  scale  upon  which 
they  are  formed. 

Suppose  then  we  were  to  ask,  whether  the  king 
has  been  richer  than  liis  predecessors  in  accumulated 
wealth,  since  the  establishment  of  the  plan  of  favor- 
itism ?  I  believe  it  will  be  found  that  the  picture  of 
royal  indigence,  which  our  court  has  presented  until 
this  year,  has  been  truly  humiliating.  Nor  has  it 
been  relieved  from  this   unseemly  distress,  but  by 


486  THOUGHTS    ON    THE    CAUSE 

means  which  have  hazarded  the  affection  of  the  peo- 
ple, and  shaken  their  confidence  in  Parliament.  If 
the  public  treasures  had  been  exhausted  in  magnifi- 
cence and  splendor,  this  distress  would  have  been  ac- 
counted for,  and  in  some  measure  justified.  Nothing 
would  be  more  unworthy  of  this  nation,  than  with  a 
mean  and  mechanical  rule,  to  mete  out  the  splendor 
of  the  crown.  Indeed  I  have  found  very  few  persons 
disposed  to  so  ungenerous  a  procedure.  But  the 
generality  of  people,  it  must  be  confessed,  do  feel  a 
good  deal  mortified,  when  they  compare  the  wants 
of  the  court  with  its  expenses.  They  do  not  behold 
the  cause  of  this  distress  in  any  part  of  the  apparatus 
of  royal  magnificence.  In  all  this,  they  see  nothing 
but  the  operations  of  parsimony,  attended  with  all 
the  consequences  of  profusion.  Nothing  expended, 
nothing  saved.  Their  wonder  is  increased  by  tlieir 
knowledge,  that  besides  the  revenue  settled  on  his 
Majesty's  civil  list  to  the  amount  of  800,000Z.  a  year, 
he  has  a  farther  aid  from  a  large  pension  list,  near 
90,000^  a  year,  in  Ireland  ;  from  the  produce  of  the 
duchy  of  Lancaster  (which  we  are  told  has  been 
greatly  improved)  ;  from  tlie  revenue  of  the  duchy 
of  Cornwall  ;  from  the  American  quit-rents  ;  from 
the  four  and  a  half  per  cent  duty  in  the  Leeward 
Islands  ;  this  last  worth  to  be  sure  considerably  more 
than  40,000/.  a  year.  The  whole  is  certainly  not 
much  short  of  a  million  annually. 

These  are  revenues  within  the  knowledge  and  cog- 
nizance ol'our  national  councils.  We  have  no  direct 
right  to  examine  inU)  the  receipts  from  his  Majesty's 
German  dominions,  and  the  bislK)i»ric  of  Osnaburg. 
This  is  uiKjuesUonably  ti"uc.  l>ut  that  which  is  not 
within  the  province  of  PurlianiciiL,  is  yet  within  the 


OF   THE    PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  487 

sphere  of  every  man's  own  reflection.  li  a  foreign 
prince  resided  amongst  us,  the  state  of  his  revenues 
could  not  fail  of  becoming  the  subject  of  our  specula- 
tion. Filled  with  an  anxious  concern  for  whatever 
regards  the  welfare  of  our  sovereign,  it  is  impossible, 
in  considering  the  miserable  circumstances  into  which 
he  has  been  brought,  that  this  obvious  topic  should 
be  entirely  passed  over.  There  is  an  opinion  luiiver- 
sal,  that  these  revenues  produce  something  not  hicon- 
siderable,  clear  of  all  charges  and  establishments. 
This  produce  the  people  do  not  believe  to  be  hoarded, 
nor  perceive  to  be  spent.  It  is  accounted  for  in  the 
only  manner  it  can,  by  supposing  that  it  is  drawn 
away,  for  the  support  of  that  court  faction,  which, 
whilst  it  distresses  the  nation,  impoverishes  the 
prince  in  every  one  of  his  resources.  I  once  more 
caution  the  reader,  that  I  do  not  urge  this  considera- 
tion concerning  the  foreign  revenue,  as  if  I  supposed 
we  had  a  direct  right  to  examine  into  the  expendi- 
ture of  any  part  of  it ;  but  solely  for  the  purpose  of 
showing  how  little  this  system  of  favoritism  has  been 
advantageous  to  the  monarch  himself;  which,  with- 
out magnificence,  has  sunk  him  into  a  state  of  unnat- 
ural poverty ;  at  the  same  time  that  he  possessed 
every  means  of  affluence,  from  ample  revenues,  both 
in  this  country,  and  in  other  parts  of  his  dominions. 

Has  this  system  provided  better  for  the  treatment 
becoming  his  high  and  sacred  character,  and  secured 
the  king  from  those  disgusts  attached  to  the  neces- 
sity of  employing  men  who  are  not  personally  agreea- 
ble ?  This  is  a  topic  upon  which  for  many  reasons  I 
could  wish  to  be  silent ;  but  the  pretence  of  securing 
against  such  causes  of  uneasiness,  is  the  corner-stone 
of  the  court-party.     It  has  however  so  happened,  that 


488  THOUGHTS   ON  THE   CAUSE 

if  I  were  to  fix  upon  any  one  point,  in  which  this  sys- 
tem has  been  more  particularly  and  shamefully  blam- 
able,  the  effects  which  it  has  produced  would  justify 
me  in  choosing  for  that  point  its  tendency  to  degrade 
the  personal  dignity  of  the  sovereign,  and  to  expose 
him  to  a  thousand  contradictions  and  mortifications. 
It  is  but  too  evident  in  what  manner  these  projectors 
of  royal  greatness  have  fulfilled  all  their  magnificent 
promises.  Without  recapitulating  all  the  circum- 
stances of  the  reign,  every  one  of  which  is,  more  or 
less,  a  melancholy  proof  of  the  truth  of  what  I  have 
advanced,  let  us  consider  the  language  of  the  court 
but  a  few  years  ago,  concerning  most  of  the  persons 
now  in  the  external  administration :  let  me  ask, 
whether  any  enemy  to  the  personal  feelings  of  the 
sovereign  could  possibly  contrive  a  keener  instrument 
of  mortification,  and  degradation  of  all  dignity,  than 
almost  every  part  and  member  of  the  present  arrange- 
ment ?  Nor,  in  the  whole  course  of  our  history,  has 
any  compliance  with  the  will  of  the  people  ever  been 
known  to  extort  from  any  prince  a  greater  contradic- 
tion to  all  his  own  declared  alTections  and  dislikes, 
than  that  which  is  now  adopted,  in  direct  o])position 
to  everything  the  people  approve  and  desire. 

An  opinion  prevails,  tliat  greatness  has  been  more 
tlian  once  advised  to  submit  to  certain  condescensions 
towards  individuals,  which  have  been  denied  to  the 
entreaties  of  a  nution.  For  the  meanest  and  most 
dependent  instrument  of  this  system  knows,  that  there 
are  hours  when  its  existence  may  depend  upon  his 
adherence  to  it ;  and  he  takes  his  advantage  accord- 
ingly. Indeed  it  is  a  law  of  nature,  that  whoever  is 
n(-'(;i;ssary  to  what  we  have  made  our  object  is  sure,  in 
some  way,  or  in  some  time  or  other,  to  become  our 


OF   THE  PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  489 

master.  All  this  however  is  submitted  to,  in  order 
to  avoid  tliat  monstrous  evil  of  governing  in  concur- 
rence with  the  opinion  of  the  people.  For  it  seems 
to  be  laid  down  as  a  maxim,  that  a  king  has  some 
sort  of  interest  in  giving  uneasiness  to  his  subjects  : 
that  all  who  are  pleasing  to  them,  are  to  be  of  course 
disagreeable  to  him :  that  as  soon  as  the  persons  who 
are  odious  at  court  are  known  to  be  odious  to  the 
people,  it  is  snatched  at  as  a  lucky  occasion  of  show- 
ering down  upon  them  all  kinds  of  emoluments  and 
honors.  None  are  considered  as  well-wishers  to  the 
crown,  but  those  who  advise  to  some  unpopular 
course  of  action ;  none  capable  of  serving  it,  but 
those  who  are  obliged  to  call  at  every  instant  upon 
all  its  power  for  the  safety  of  their  lives.  None  are 
supposed  to  be  fit  priests  in  the  temple  of  govern- 
ment, but  the  persons  who  are  compelled  to  fly  into 
it  for  sanctuary.  Such  is  the  effect  of  this  refined 
project;  such  is  ever  the  result  of  all  the  contriv- 
ances, which  are  used  to  free  men  from  the  servitude 
of  their  reason,  and  from  the  necessity  of  ordering 
their  affairs  according  to  their  evident  interests. 
These  contrivances  oblige  them  to  run  into  a  real  and 
ruinous  servitude,  in  order  to  avoid  a  supposed  re- 
straint, that  might  be  attended  with  advantage. 

If  therefore  this  system  has  so  ill  answered  its  own 
grand  pretence  of  saving  the  king  from  the  necessity 
of  employing  persons  disagreeable  to  him,  has  it  given 
more  peace  and  tranquillity  to  his  Majesty's  private 
hours  ?  No,  most  certainly.  The  father  of  his  peo- 
ple cannot  possibly  enjoy  repose,  while  his  family  is  in 
such  a  state  of  distraction.  Then  what  has  tlie  crown 
or  the- king  profited  by  all  this  fine-wrought  scheme  ? 
Is  he  more  rich,  or  more  splendid,  or  more  powerful, 


490  THOUGHTS   ON    THE   CAUSE 

or  more  at  his  ease,  by  so  many  labors  and  contriv- 
ances ?  Have  they  not  beggared  his  exchequer,  tar- 
nished the  splendor  of  his  court,  sunk  his  dignity, 
galled  his  feelings,  discomposed  the  whole  order  and 
happiness  of  his  private  life  ? 

It  will  be  very  hard,  I  believe,  to  state  in  what  re- 
spect the  king  lias  profited  by  that  faction  which  pre- 
sumptuously choose  to  call  themselves  his  friends. 

If  particular  men  had  grown  into  an  attachment, 
by  the  distinguished  honor  of  the  society  of  their  sov- 
ereign ;  and,  by  being  the  partakers  of  his  amuse- 
ments, came  sometimes  to  prefer  the  gratification  of 
his  personal  inclinations  to  the  support  of  his  high 
character,  the  thing  would  be  very  natural,  and  it 
would  be  excusable  enough.  But  the  pleasant  part 
of  the  story  is,  that  these  Tcing'' s  friends  have  no  more 
ground  for  usurping  such  a  title,  than  a  resident  free- 
liolder  in  Cumberland  or  in  Cornwall.  They  are  only 
known  to  their  sovereign  by  kissing  his  hand,  for  the 
offices,  pensions,  and  grants,  into  which  they  have 
deceived  his  benignity.  May  no  storm  ever  come, 
which  will  put  the  firmness  of  their  attachment  to 
the  proof;  and  which,  in  the  midst  of  confusions,  and 
terrors,  and  sufferings,  may  demonstrate  the  eternal 
.difference  between  a  true  and  severe  friend  to  the 
monarchy,  and  a  slippery  sycophant  of  the  court ! 
Qaantwn  infido  scurroi  distahit  amicus. 

So  far  I  have  considered  the  effect  of  the  court 
system,  chiefly  as  it  operates  upon  the  executive  gov- 
ernment, on  the  temper  of  the  people,  and  on  the 
liappiness  of  tl>e  sovereign.  It  remains  that  we 
should  consider,  with  a  little  attention,  its  operation 
ii]>oii  Parliament. 

Parliament  was  indeed  the  great  object  of  all  these 


OP  THE  PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  491 

politics,  the  end  at  which  they  aimed,  as  well  as  the 
instrument  by  which  they  were  to  operate.  But,  be- 
fore Parliament  could  be  made  subservient  to  a  sys- 
tem, by  which  it  was  to  be  degraded  from  the  dignity 
of  a  national  council  into  a  mere  member  of  the 
court,  it  must  be  greatly  changed  from  its  original 
character. 

In  speaking  of  this  body,  I  have  my  eye  chiefly  on 
the  House  of  Commons.  I  hope  I  shall  be  indulged 
in  a  few  observations  on  the  nature  and  character  of 
that  assembly  ;  not  with  regard  to  its  legal  form  and 
poiver,  hut  to  its  spirit,  and  tO  the  purposes  it  is 
meant  to  answer  in  the  constitution. 

The  House  of  Commons  was  supposed  originally 
CO  be  no  part  of  the  standing  government  of  this  country. 
It  was  considered  as  a  control  issuing  immediately  from 
the  people,  and  speedily  to  be  resolved  into  the  mass 
from  whence  it  arose.  In  this  respect  it  was  in  the 
higher  part  of  government  what  juries  are  in  the  low- 
er. The  capacity  of  a  magistrate  being  transitory,  and 
that  of  a  citizen  permanent,  the  latter  capacity  it  was 
hoped  would  of  course  preponderate  in  all  discus- 
sions, not  only  between  the  people  and  the  standing 
authority  of  the  crown,  but  between  the  people  and 
the  fleeting  authority  of  the  House  of  Commons  itself. 
It  was  hoped  that,  being  of  a  middle  nature  between 
subject  and  government,  they  would  feel  with  a  moi-e 
tender  and  a  nearer  interest  everything  that  con- 
cerned the  people,  than  the  other  remoter  and  more 
permanent  parts  of  legislature. 

Whatever  alterations  time  and  the  necessary  ac- 
commodation of  business  may  have  introduced,  this 
character  can  never  be  sustained,  unless  the  House 
of  Commons  shall  be  made  to  bear  some  stamp  of  the 


492  THOUGHTS    ON    THE    CAUSE 

actual  disposition  of  the  people  at  large.  It  would 
(aniono-  public  misfortunes)  be  an  evil  more  natural 
and  tolerable,  that  the  House  of  Commons  should  be 
infected  with  every  epidemical  frenzy  of  the  people, 
as  this  would  indicate  some  consanguinity,  some  synir 
pathy  of  nature  with  their  constituents,  than  that  they 
should  in  all  cases  be  wholly  untouched  by  the  opin- 
ions and  feelings  of  the  people  out  of  doors.  By  this 
want  of  sympathy  they  would  cease  to  be  a  House  of 
Commons.  For  it  is  not  the  derivation  of  the  power 
of  that  House  from  the  people,  which  makes  it  in  a 
distinct  sense  their  representative.  The  king  is  the 
representative  of  tlie  people  ;  so  are  the  lords  ;  so  are 
the  judges.  They  all  are  trustees  for  the  people,  as 
well  as  the  commons  ;  because  no  power  is  given  for 
the  sole  sake  of  the  holder  ;  and  although  govern- 
ment certainly  is  an  institution  of  divine  authority, 
yet  its  forms,  and  the  persons  who  administer  it,  all 
originate  from  the  people. 

A  popular  origin  cannot  therefore  be  the  character 
istical  distinction  of  a  popular  representative.  This 
belongs  equally  to  all  parts  of  government  and  in  all 
forms.  Tiie  virtue,  spirit,  and  essence  of  a  House  of 
Commons  consists  in  its  being  the  express  image  of 
the  feelings  of  the  nation.  It  was  not  instituted  to 
be  a  control  upon  the  people,  as  of  late  it  has  been 
taught,  by  a  doctrine  of  the  most  pernicious  tendency. 
It  was  designed  as  a  control  for  the  people.  Other 
ii)stitutioiis  have  been  formed  for  the  pur{)Ose  of 
cliecking  })opular  excesses  ;  and  they  are,  I  ap|)rc- 
hiMid,  fnlly  acbiquate  to  their  object.  If  not,  tiiey 
oiiglit  to  be  made  so.  The  House  of  Conunons,  as 
it,  was  never  iiit(Mid(Ml  for  the  support  of  ])eace  and 
8ul)ordination,is  miserably  appointed  for  that  service  ; 


OP   THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  493 

Jiaving  no  stronger  weapon  than  its  mace,  and  no  bet- 
ter officer  than  its  serjeant-at-arms,  which  it  can  com- 
mand of  its  own  proper  authority.  A  vigilant  and  ^ 
jealous  eye  over  executory  and  judicial  magistracy ;  ( 
an  anxious  care  of  public  money ;  an  openness,  ap- 
proaching  towards  facility,  to  public  complaint :  these  '\ 
seem  to  be  the  true  characteristics  of  a  House  of  Com- 
mons. But  an  addressing  House  of  Commons,  and  a 
petitioning  nation  ;  a  House  of  Commons  full  of  con- 
fidence, when  the  nation  is  plunged  in  despair ;  in 
the  utmost  harmony  with  ministers,  whom  the  peo- 
ple regard  with  the  utmost  abhorrence  ;  who  vote 
thanks,  when  the  public  opinion  calls  upon  them  for 
impeachments  ;  who  are  eager  to  grant,  when  the  gen- 
eral voice  demands  account ;  who,  in  all  disputes  be- 
tween the  people  and  administration,  presume  against 
the  people  ;  who  punish  their  disorders,  but  refuse 
even  to  inquire  into  the  provocations  to  them  ;  this 
is  an  unnatural,  a  monstrous  state  of  things  in  this 
constitution.  Such  an  assembly  may  be  a  great,  wise, 
awful  senate ;  but  it  is  not,  to  any  popular  pur- 
pose, a  House  of  Commons.  This  change  from  an 
immediate  state  of  procuration  and  delegation  to  a 
course  of  acting  as  from  original  power,  is  the  way 
in  which  all  the  popular  magistracies  in  the  world 
have  been  perverted  from  their  purposes.  It  is  in- 
deed their  greatest  and  sometimes  their  incurable  cor- 
ruption. For  there  is  a  material  distinction  between 
that  corruption  by  which  particular  points  are  carried 
against  reason,  (this  is  a  thing  which  cannot  be  pre- 
vented by  human  wisdom,  and  is  of  less  conse- 
quence,) and  the  corruption  of  the  principle  itself. 
For  then  the  evil  is  not  accidental,  but  settled.  The 
distemper  becomes  the  natural  habit. 


494  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

For  my  part,  I  shall  be  compelled  to  conclude  the 
principle  of  Parliament  to  be  totally  corrupted,  and 
therefore  its  ends  entirely  defeated,  when  I  sec  two 
symptoms :  first,  a  rule  of  indiscriminate  support  to 
all  ministers ;  because  this  destroys  the  very  end  of 
Parliament  as  a  control,  and  is  a  general,  previous 
sanction  to  misgovernment :  and  secondly,  the  setting 
up  any  claims  adverse  to  the  right  of  free  election  ; 
for  this  tends  to  subvert  the  legal  authority  by  which 
the  House  of  Commons  sits. 

I  know  that,  since  the  Revolution,  along  with 
many  dangerous,  many  useful  powers  of  government 
liave  been  weakened.  It  is  absolutely  necessary  to 
have  frequent  recourse  to  the  legislature.  Parlia- 
ments must  therefore  sit  every  year,  and  for  great 
part  of  the  year.  The  dreadful  disorders  of  frequent 
elections  have  also  necessitated  a  septennial  instead 
of  a  triennial  duration.  These  circumstances,  I  mean 
the  constant  habit  of  authority,  and  the  unfrequency 
of  elections,  have  tended  very  much  to  draw  the 
House  of  Commons  towards  the  character  of  a  stand- 
ing senate.  It  is  a  disorder  which  has  arisen  from 
the  cure  of  greater  disorders  ;  it  has  arisen  from  the 
extreme  difficulty  of  reconciling  liberty  under  a  mo- 
narchical government,  with  external  strength  and 
with  internal  tranquillity. 

It  is  very  clear  that  we  cannot  free  ourselves  en- 
tirely fi'om  this  great  inconvenience ;  but  I  would 
not  increase  an  evil,  because  I  was  not  able  to  remove 
it ;  and  because  it  was  not  in  my  power  to  keep  the 
House  of  Commons  religiously  true  to  its  first  princi- 
ples, I  would  not  nrguc  for  carrying  it  to  a  total  olv 
livion  of  tlicm.  This  has  been  the  great  selicme  of 
power  in  our  time.    They,  who  will  not  conform  their 


OF  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  495 

conduct  to  the  public  good,  and  cannot  support  it  by 
the  prerogative  of  the  crown,  have  adopted  a  new 
plan.  They  have  totally  abandoned  the  shattered 
and  old-fashioned  fortress  of  prerogative,  and  made  a 
lodgment  in  the  stronghold  of  Parliament  itself.  If 
they  have  any  evil  design  to  which  there  is  no  ordina- 
ry legal  power  commensurate,  they  bring  it  into  Par- 
liament. In  Parliament  the  whole  is  executed  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end.  In  Parliament  the  power 
of  obtaining  their  object  is  absolute ;  and  the  safety 
in  the  proceeding  perfect :  no  rules  to  confine,  no  af- 
ter-reckonings to  terrify.  Parliament  cannot,  with 
any  great  propriety,  piuiish  others  for  things  in  which 
they  themselves  have  been  accomplices.  Thus  thej 
control  of  Parliament  upon  the  executory  power  is, 
lost ;  because  Parliament  is  made  to  partake  in  every ' 
considerable  act  of  government.  Impeachment^  that 
great  guardian  of  the  purity  of  the  constitution,  is  in 
danger  of  being  lost,  even  to  the  idea  of  it. 

By  this  plan  several  important  ends  are  answered 
to  the  cabal.  If  the  authority  of  Parliament  supports 
itself,  the  credit  of  every  act  of  government,  which 
they  contrive,  is  saved  ;  but  if  the  act  be  so  very  odi- 
ous that  the  whole  strength  of  Parliament  is  insuffi- 
cient to  recommend  it,  then  Parliament  is  itself  dis- 
credited ;  and  this  discredit  increases  more  and  more 
that  indifference  to  the  constitution,  which  it  is  the 
constant  aim  of  its  enemies,  by  their  abuse  of  Parlia- 
mentary powers,  to  render  general  among  the  people. 
Whenever  Parliament  is  persuaded  to  assume  the  offi- 
ces of  executive  government,  it  will  lose  all  the  confi- 
dence, love,  and  veneration,  which  it  has  ever  enjoyed 
whilst  it  was  supposed  the  corrective  and  control  of  the 
acting  powers  of  the  state.     This  would  be  the  event, 


496  THOUGHTS    ON   THE   C-AURF, 

tliough  its  conduct  in  such  a  perversion  of  its  func- 
tions should  be  tolerably  just  and  moderate  ;  but  if  it 
should  be  iniquitous,  violent,  full  of  jjassion,  and  full 
of  faction,  it  would  be  considered  as  the  most  intoler- 
able of  all  the  modes  of  tyranny. 

For  a  considerable  time  this  separation  of  the  rep- 
resentatives from  their  constituents  went  on  with  a 
silent  progress ;  and  had  those,  who  conducted  the 
plan  for  their  total  separation,  been  persons  of  temper 
and  abilities  any  way  equal  to  the  magnitude  of  their 
design,  the  success  would  have  been  infallible :  but 
by  their  precipitancy  they  have  laid  it  open  in  all  its 
nakedness ;  the  nation  is  alarmed  at  it :  and  the 
event  may  not  be  pleasant  to  the  contrivers  of  the 
scheme.  In  the  last  session,  the  corps  called  the 
king''s  friends  made  a  hardy  attempt,  all  at  once,  to 
alter  the  right  of  election  itself;  to  i)ut  it  into  the  pow- 
er of  the  House  of  Commons  to  disable  any  person 
disagreeable  to  them  from  sitting  in  Parliament, 
withuut  any  other  rule  than  their  own  pleasure ;  to 
make  incapacities,  either  general  for  descriptions  of 
men,  or  particular  for  individuals  ;  and  to  take  into 
theh-  body,  persons  who  avowedly  had  never  been 
chosen  by  the  majority  of  legal  electors,  nor  agreea- 
bly to  any  known  rule  of  law. 

The  arguments  upon  which  this  claim  was  founded 
and  combated,  are  not  my  business  here.  Never  has 
a  sul)ject  been  more  anijily  and  more  learnedly  han- 
dled, nor  upon  one  side,  in  my  opinion,  more  satisfac- 
torily ;  they  who  arc  not  convinced  by  what  is  already 
written  would  not  receive  conviction  though  one  arose 
from  the  dead. 

I  too  have  thought  on  this  subject :  but  my  jmr- 
pose  here,  is  only  to  consider  it  as  a  part  of  the  favor- 


OF  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  497 

ite  project  of  government ;  to  observe  on  the  motives 
which  led  to  it ;  and  to  trace  its  political  consequences. 

A  violent  rage  for  the  punishment  of  Mr.  Wilkes 
was  the  pretence  of  the  whole.     This  gentleman,  by 
setting  himself  strongly  in  opposition  to  the  court 
cabal,  had  become  at  once  an  object  of  their  persecu- 
tion, and  of  the  popular  favor.     The  hatred  of  the 
court  party  pursuing,  and  the  countenance  of  the  peo- 
ple protecting  him,  it  very  soon  became  not  at  all  a 
question  on  the  man,  but  a  trial  of  strength  between 
the  two  parties.     The  advantage  of  the  victory  in 
this  particular  contest  was  the  present,  but  not  the 
only,  nor  by  any  means  the  principal  object.     Its 
operation  upon  the  character  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons was  the  great  point  in  view.     The  point  to  be 
gained  by  the  cabal  was  this  ;  that  a  precedent  should 
be  established,  tending  to  show,  That  the  favor  of  the 
'peo])le  was  not  so  sure  a  road  as  the  favor  of  the  court 
even  to  popular  honors  and  popular  trusts.    A  strenuous  1 
resistance  to  every  appearance  of  lawless  power  ;  a 
spirit  of  independence  carried  to  some  degree  of  enthu- 
siasm ;  an  inquisitive  character  to  discover,  and  a  bold 
one  to  display,  every  corruption  and  every  error  of 
government ;  these  are  the  qualities  which  recom- 
mend a  man  to  a  seat  in  the  House  of  Commons,  in 
open  and  merely  popular  elections.     An  indolent  and 
submissive  disposition  ;  a  disposition  to  think  charita- 
bly of  all  the  actions  of  men  in  power,  and  to  live  in  a 
mutual  intercourse  of  favors  with  them  ;  an  inclina- 
tion rather  to  countenance  a  strong  use  of  authority, 
than  to  bear  any  sort  of  licentiousness  on  the  part  of 
the  people  ;  these  are  unfavorable  qualities  in  an  open 
election  for  members  of  Parliament. 

The  instinct  wliich  carries  the  people  towards  tho 

VOL.  I.  32 


498  THOUGHTS   ON  THE   CAUSE 

choice  of  the  former,  is  justified  by  reason  ;  because 
a  man  of  such  a  character,  even  in  its  exorbitances, 
does  not  directly  contradict  the  purposes  of  a  ti-ust, 
the  end  of  which  is  a  control  on  power.  The  lattei 
character,  even  when  it  is  not  in  its  extreme,  will  ex- 
ecute this  trust  but  very  imperfectly  ;  and,  if  deviat- 
ing to  the  least  excess,  will  certainly  frustrate  instead 
of  forwarding  the  purposes  of  a  control  on  govern- 
ment. But  when  the  House  of  Commons  was  to  be 
new  modelled,  this  principle  was  not  only  to  be 
changed  but  reversed.  Whilst  any  errors  committed 
in  support  of  power  were  left  to  the  law,  with  every 
advantage  of  favorable  construction,  of  mitigation, 
and  finally  of  pardon  ;  all  excesses  on  the  side  of  lib- 
erty, or  in  pursuit  of  popular  favor,  or  in  defence  of 
popular  rights  and  privileges,  were  not  only  to  be 
punished  by  the  rigor  of  the  known  law,  but  by  a 
discretionary  proceeding,  which  brought  on  the  loss  of 
the  popular  object  itself.  Popularity  was  to  be  ren- 
dered, if  not  directly  penal,  at  least  highly  dangerous. 
The  favor  of  the  people  might  lead  even  to  a  disqual- 
ification of  representing  them.  Their  odium  might 
become,  strained  through  the  medium  of  two  or  three 
constructions,  the  means  of  sitting  as  the  trustee  of 
all  that  was  dear  to  tliem.  This  is  punishing  the  of- 
fence in  the  offending  part.  Until  this  time,  the 
oi)inion  of  the  people,  tlirough  the  power  of  an  as- 
semljly,  still  in  some  sort  popular,  led  to  the  greatest 
honors  and  emoluments  in  the  gift  of  the  crown. 
Mow  the  principle  is  reversed  ;  and  the  favor  of  the 
court  is  the  only  sure  way  of  obtaining  and  holding 
those  lienors  which  ought  to  be  in  the  disposal  of  the 
peo{)le. 

It  signifies  very  little  how  this  matter  may  be  quib 


OF   THE   PEESENT   DISCONTENTS.  49P 

bled  away.  Example,  the  only  argument  of  effect  in 
civil  life,  demonstrates  the  truth  of  my  proposition. 
Nothing  can  alter  my  opinion  concerning  the  perni- 
cious tendency  of  this  example,  until  I  see  some  man 
for  his  indiscretion  in  the  support  of  power,  for  his 
violent  and  intemperate  servility,  rendered  incapable 
of  sitting  in  Parliament.  For  as  it  now  stands,  the 
fault  of  overstraining  popular  qualities,  and,  irregu- 
larly if  you  please,  asserting  popular  privileges,  has 
led  to  disqualification  ;  the  opposite  fault  never  has 
produced  the  slightest  punishment.  Resistance  to 
power  has  shut  the  door  of  the  House  of  Common?' 
to  one  man  ;  obsequiousness  and  servility,  to  none. 

Not  that  I  would  encourage  popular  disorder,  or 
any  disorder.  But  I  would  leave  such  offences  to  the 
law,  to  be  punished  in  measure  and  proportion.  The 
laws  of  this  country  are  for  the  most  part  constituted, 
and  wisely  so,  for  the  general  ends  of  government, 
rather  than  for  the  preservation  of  our  particular  lib- 
erties. Whatever  therefore  is  done  in  support  of 
liberty,  by  persons  not  in  public  trust,  or  not  acting 
merely  in  that  trust,  is  liable  to  be  more  or  less  out 
of  the  ordinary  course  of  the  law ;  and  the  law  itself 
is  sujBficient  to  animadvert  upon  it  with  great  sever- 
ity. Nothing  indeed  can  hinder  that  severe  letter 
from  crushing  us,  except  the  temperaments  it  may 
receive  from  a  trial  by  jury.  But  if  the  habit  pre- 
vails of  going  beyond  the  Imv,  and  superseding  this 
judicature,  of  carrying  offences,  real  or  supposed, 
into  the  legislative  bodies,  who  shall  establish  them- 
selves into  courts  of  criminal  equity  (so  the  Star  Cham- 
ber has  been  called  by  Lord  Bacon),  all  tbe  evils  of 
the  Star  Chamber  are  revived.  A  large  and  liberal 
construction  in  ascertaining  offences,  and  a  discre- 


600  THOUGHTS    ON    THE    CAUSE 

tioiiary  power  in  punishing  them,  is  the  idea  of  erim 
inal  equity  ;  which  is  in  truth  a  monster  in  jurispru- 
dence. It  .signifies  nothing  whether  a  court  for  this 
purpose  be  a  committee  of  council,  or  a  House  of 
Commons,  or  a  House  of  Lords ;  the  liberty  of  the 
subject  will  be  equally  subverted  by  it.  The  true 
end  and  purpose  of  that  House  of  Parliament,  which 
entertains  such  a  jurisdiction,  will  be  destroyed  by  it. 

I  will  not  believe,  Avhat  no  other  man  living 
believes,  that  Mr.  Wilkes  was  punished  for  the  in- 
decency of  his  publications,  or  the  impiety  of  his 
ransacked  closet.  If  he  had  fallen  in  a  common 
slaughter  of  libellers  and  blasphemers,  I  could  well 
believe  that  nothing  more  was  meant  than  was  pre- 
tended. But  when  I  see,  that,  for  years  together, 
full  as  impious,  and  perhaps  more  dangerous  writings 
to  religion,  and  virtue,  and  order,  have  not  been  pun- 
ished, nor  their  authors  discountenanced ;  that  the 
most  audacious  libels  on  royal  majesty  have  ])assed 
without  notice  ;  that  the  most  treasonable  invectives 
against  the  laws,  liberties,  and  constitution  of  the 
country,  have  not  met  with  the  slightest  animadver- 
sion ;  1  must  consider  this  as  a  shocking  and  shame- 
less pi-etence.  Never  did  an  envenomed  scurrility 
against  everything  sacred  and  civil,  public  and  pri- 
vate, rage  through  the  kingdom  with  such  a  furious 
and  unbridled  license.  All  this  while  the  })eace  of 
the  nation  must  be  shaken,  to  ruin  one  libeller,  and 
to  tear  from  the  populace  a  single  favorite. 

Nor  is  it  that  vice  merely  skulks  in  an  ol)SCurc  and 
contemptible  impunity.  Does  not  the  public  behold 
with  indignation,  j)ersons  not  only  generally  scanda- 
lous in  their  lives,  but  the  identical  persons  who,  by 
their  society,  their  instruction,  their  cxaini»le,  their 


OP  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  501 

eiicoiiragemcnt,  liave  drawn  this  man  into  tlic  very 
faults  which  have  furnished  the  cahal  with  a  pretence 
for  his  persecution,  loaded  with  every  khid  of  favor, 
honor,  and  distinction,  which  a  court  can  bestow  ? 
Add  but  the  crime  of  servility  (the  fcedum  crimen  ser- 
vitutis)  to  every  other  crime,  and  the  whole  mass  is 
immediately  transmuted  into  virtue,  and  becomes  the 
just  subject  of  reward  and  honor.  When  therefore 
I  reflect  upon  this  method  pursued  by  the  cabal  in 
distributing  rewards  and  pimishments,  I  must  con- 
clude that  Mr.  Wilkes  is  the  object  of  persecution, 
not  on  account  of  what  he  has  done  in  common  with 
others  who  are  the  objects  of  reward,  but  for  that 
in  which  he  differs  from  many  of  them :  that  he 
is  pursued  for  the  spirited  dispositions  which  are 
blended  with  his  vices  ;  for  his  unconquerable  firm- 
ness, for  his  resolute,  indefatigable,  strenuous  resist- 
ance against  op})ression. 

In  this  case,  therefore,  it  was  not  the  man  that  was 
to  be  punished,  nor  his  faults  that  were  to  be  dis- 
countenanced. Opposition  to  acts  of  power  was  to 
be  marked  by  a  kind  of  civil  proscription.  The  pop- 
ularity which  should  arise  from  such  an  opposition 
was  to  be  shown  unable  to  protect  it.  The  qualities 
by  which  court  is  made  to  the  people,  were  to  render 
every  fault  inexpiable,  and  every  error  irretrievable. 
The  qualities  by  which  court  is  made  to  power,  were 
to  cover  and  to  sanctify  everything.  He  that  will  have 
a  sure  and  honorable  seat  in  the  House  of  Commons 
must  take  care  how  he  adventures  to  cultivate  pop- 
ular qualities :  otherwise  he  may  remember  the  old 
maxim,  Breves  et  infmistos  pojmli  Romayii  amores. 
If,  therefore,  a  pursuit  of  popularity  expose  a  man  to 
greater  dangers  than  a  disposition  to  servility,  the 


5C2  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

principle  which  is  the  life  and  soul  of  popular  elec- 
tions will  perish  out  of  the  constitution. 

It  behoves  the  people  of  England  to  consider  how 
the  House  of  Commons,  under  the  operation  of  these 
examples,  must  of  necessity  be  constituted.  On  the 
side  of  the  court  will  be,  all  honors,  offices,  emolu- 
ments ;  every  sort  of  personal  gratification  to  avarice 
or  vanity  ;  and,  what  is  of  more  moment  to  most  gen- 
tlemen, the  means  of  growing,  by  innumerable  petty 
services  to  individuals,  into  a  spreading  interest  in 
their  country.  On  the  other  hand,  let  us  suppose  a 
person  unconnected  with  the  court,  and  in  opposition 
to  its  system.  For  his  own  person,  no  office,  or  emol- 
ument, or  title  ;  no  promotion,  ecclesiastical,  or  civil, 
or  military,  or  naval,  for  children,  or  brothers,  or  kin- 
dred. In  vain  an  expiring  interest  in  a  borough  calls 
for  offices,  or  small  livings,  for  the  children  of  may- 
ors, and  aldermen,  and  capital  burgesses.  His  court 
rival  has  them  all.  He  can  do  an  infinite  number  of 
acts  of  generosity  and  kindness,  and  even  of  public 
spirit.  He  can  procure  indemnity  from  quarters. 
He  can  procure  advantages  in  trade.  He  can  get 
pardons  for  oifences.  He  can  obtain  a  thousand  fa- 
vors, and  avert  a  thousand  evils.  He  may,  while  he 
betrays  every  valuable  interest  of  the  kingdom,  be  a 
benefactor,  a  patron,  a  fatlier,  a  guardian  angel  to  his 
borough.  The  unfortunate  independent  member  has 
nothing  to  olTcr,  l)ut  harsh  refusal,  or  pitiful  excuse, 
or  despondent  ropi-csentation  of  a  hopeless  interest. 
Except  from  his  private  fortune,  in  which  he  may  bo 
equalled,  perhai)s  exceeded,  by  his  court  competitor, 
he  has  no  way  of  showing  any  one  good  quality,  or  of 
making  a  single  friend.  In  the  House,  he  votes  for- 
ever in  a  dispirited  minority.     If  ho  speaks,  the  doors 


OP  THE  PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  503 

are  locked.  A  body  of  loquacious  placemen  go  out 
to  tell  the  world  that  all  he  aims  at  is  to  get  into  of- 
fice. If  he  has  not  the  talent  of  elocution,  which  is 
the  case  of  many  as  wise  and  knowing  men  as  any  in 
the  House,  he  is  liable  to  all  these  inconveniences, 
without  the  idat  which  attends  upon  any  tolerably 
successful  exertion  of  eloquence.  Can  we  conceive  a 
more  discouraging  post  of  duty  than  this  ?  Strip  it 
of  the  poor  reward  of  popularity  ;  suffer  even  the  ex- 
cesses committed  in  defence  of  the  popular  interest  to 
become  a  ground  for  the  majority  of  that  House  to 
form  a  disqualification  out  of  the  line  of  the  law,  and 
at  their  pleasure,  attended  not  only  with  the  loss  of 
the  franchise,  but  with  every  kind  of  personal  dis- 
grace. —  If  this  shall  happen,  the  people  of  this  king- 
dom may  be  assured  that  they  cannot  be  firmly  or 
faithfully  served  by  any  man.  It  is  out  of  the  nature 
of  men  and  things  that  they  should  ;  and  their  pre- 
sumption will  be  equal  to  their  folly  if  they  expect  it. 
The  power  of  the  people,  within  the  laws,  must  show 
itself  sufficient  to  protect  every  representative  in  the 
animated  performance  of  his  duty,  or  that  duty  can- 
not be  performed.  The  House  of  Commons  can 
never  be  a  control  on  other  parts  of  government, 
unless  they  are  controlled  themselves  by  their  con- 
stituents ;  and  unless  these  constituents  possess  some 
right  in  the  choice  of  that  House,  which  it  is  not  in 
the  power  of  that  House  to  take  away.  If  they  suffer 
this  poAver  of  arbitrary  incapacitation  to  stand,  they 
have  utterly  perverted  every  other  power  of  the  House 
of  Commons.  The  late  proceeding  I  will  not  say  is 
contrary  to  law  ;  it  must  be  so  ;  for  the  power  which 
is  claimed  cannot,  by  any  possibility,  be  a  legal  power 
in  any  limited  member  of  government. 


504  THOUGHTS   ON  THE   CAUSE 

The  power  which  they  claim,  of  declaring  incapaci- 
ties, would  not  be  above  the  just  claims  of  a  final  ju- 
dicature, if  they  had  not  laid  it  down  as  a  leading 
prmciple,  that  they  had  no  rule  in  the  exercise  of 
this  claim,  but  their  own  discretion.  Not  one  of  their 
abettors  has  ever  luidertaken  to  assign  the  principle 
of  unfitness,  the  species  or  degree  of  delinquency,  on 
which  the  House  of  Commons  will  expel,  nor  the  mode 
of  proceeding  upon  it,  nor  the  e\ddence  upon  which  it 
is  established.  The  direct  consequence  of  which  is, 
that  the  first  franchise  of  an  Englishman,  and  that 
on  which  all  the  rest  vitally  depend,  is  to  be  forfeited 
for  some  offence  which  no  man  knows,  and  which  is 
to  be  proved  by  no  known  rule  whatsoever  of  legal 
evidence.  This  is  so  anomalous  to  our  whole  con- 
stitution, that  I  will  venture  to  say,  the  most  trivial 
right,  which  the  subject  claims,  never  was,  nor  can 
be,  forfeited  in  such  a  manner. 

The  whole  of  their  usurpation  is  established  upon 
this  method  of  arguing.  We  do  not  make  laws.  No ; 
we  do  not  contend  for  this  power.  We  only  declare 
law  ;  and  as  we  are  a  tribunal  both  competent  and 
su])reme,  what  we  declare  to  be  law  becomes  law,  al- 
thuugli  it  should  not  have  been  so  before.  Thus  the 
circumstance  of  liaving  no  appeal  from  their  jurisdic- 
tion is  made  to  imply  that  they  have  no  rule  in  the 
exercise  of  it :  the  judgment  does  not  derive  its  va- 
lidity from  its. conformity  to  the  law  ;  but  preposter- 
ously the  law  is  made  to  attend  on  the  judgment ; 
and  the  rule  of  the  judgment  is  no  other  than  the  oc- 
canional  will  of  the  House.  An  arl)itrary  discretion 
leads,  legality  follows  ;  which  is  just  the  very  nature 
and  description  of  a  Icgishitivc  act. 

This  claim  in  their  hands  was  no  barren  theory.    It 


OP  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  505 

was  pursued  into  its  utmost  consequences ;  and  a 
dangerous  principle  lias  begot  a  correspondent  prac- 
tice. A  systematic  spirit  has  been  shown  upon  both 
sides.  The  electors  of  Middlesex  chose  a  person 
whom  the  House  of  Commons' had  voted  incapable  ; 
and  tlic  House  of  Commons  has  taken  in  a  member 
whom  the  electors  of  Middlesex  had  not  chosen.  By 
a  constriiction  on  that  legislative  power  which  had 
been  assumed,  they  declared  that  the  true  legal  sense 
of  tlie  country  was  contained  in  the  minority,  on  tliat 
occasion  ;  and  might,  on  a  resistance  to  a  vote  of  in- 
capacity, be  contained  in  any  minority. 

When  any  construction  of  law  goes  against  the 
spirit  of  the  privilege  it  was  meant  to  support,  it  is  a 
vicious  construction.  It  is  material  to  us  to  be  rep- 
resented really  and  bond  fide,  and  not  in  forms,  in 
types,  and  shadows,  and  fictions  of  law.  The  right 
of  election  was  not  established  merely  as  a  matter  of 
form,  to  satisfy  some  method  and  rule  of  technical 
reasoning  ;  it  was  not  a  principle  which  might  substi- 
tute a  Titius  or  a  Mcevius,  a  John  Doe  or  Richard 
Roe,  in  the  place  of  a  man  specially  chosen  ;  not  a 
principle  which  was  just  as  well  satisfied  with  one 
man  as  with  another.  It  is  a  right,  the  effect  of  which 
is  to  give  to  the  people  that  man,  and  that  man  oiily, 
whom,  by  their  voices  actually,  not  constructively 
given,  they  declare  that  they  know,  esteem,  love,  and 
trust.  This  right  is  a  matter  within  their  own  power 
of  judging  and  feeling  ;  not  an  ens  rationis  and  crea- 
tnre  of  law  :  nor  can  those  devices,  by  which  any- 
thing else  is  substituted  in  the  place  of  such  an  actual 
choice,  answer  in  the  least  degree  the  end  of  repre- 
sentation. 

I  know  that  the  courts  of  law  have  made  as  strained 


506  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

constnictions  iu  other  cases.  Such  is  the  construc- 
tion in  common  recoveries.  The  method  of  con- 
struction which  in  that  case  gives  to  the  persons  iu 
remainder,  for  their  security  and  representative,  the 
door-keeper,  crier,  or  sweeper  of  the  court,  or  some 
other  shadowy  being  without  substance  or  effect,  is 
a  fiction  of  a  very  coarse  texture.  Tliis  was  however 
suffered  by  the  acquiescence  of  the  whole  kingdom, 
for  ages ;  because  the  evasion  of  the  old  statute 
of  Westminster,  which  authorized  perpetuities,  had 
more  sense  and  utility  than  the  law  which  was 
evaded.  But  an  attempt  to  turn  the  right  of  elec- 
tion into  such  a  farce  and  mockery  as  a  fictitious 
fine  and  recovery,  will,  I  hope,  have  another  fate  ; 
because  the  laws  which  give  it  are  infinitely  dear  to 
us,  and  the  evasion  is  infinitely  contemptible. 

The  people  indeed  have  been  told,  that  this  power 
of  discretionary  disqualification  is  vested  in  hands 
that  they  may  trust,  and  who  will  be  sure  not  to 
abuse  it  to  their  prejudice.  Until  I  find  something 
in  this  argument  difiering  from  that  on  which  every 
mode  of  despotism  has  been  defended,  I  shall  not  be 
inclined  to  pay  it  any  great  compliment.  The  peo- 
ple are  satisfied  to  trust  themselves  with  the  exercise 
of  their  own  privileges,  and  do  not  desire  this  kind 
intervention  of  the  House  of  Commons  to  free  them 
from  the  burden.  Tliey  are  certainly  in  the  right. 
They  ought  not  to  trust  the  House  of  Commons  with 
a  power  over  tbcir  fi-anchises  ;  because  the  constitu- 
tion, wbich  i)l;i('i'(l  two  other  co-ordinate  powers  to 
control  it,  reposed  no  such  confidence  in  that  body. 
It  were  a  folly  well  deserving  servitude  for  its  pun- 
ishment, to  be  full  of  confidence  where  the  laws  are 
full  of  distrust ;  and  to  give  to  a  House  of  Commons, 


OF  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  607 

arrogating  to  its  sole  resolution  the  most  harsh  and 
odious  part  of  legislative  authority,  that  degree  of 
submission  which  is  due  only  to  the  legislature  itself. 

When  the  House  of  Commons,  in  an  endeavor  to 
obtain  new  advantages  at  the  expense  of  the  other 
orders  of  the  state,  for  the  benefit  of  the  commons  at 
large,  have  pursued  strong  measures ;  if  it  were  not 
just,  it  was  at  least  natural,  that  the  constituents 
should  connive  at  all  their  proceedings ;  because  we 
were  ourselves  ultimately  to  profit.  But  when  this 
submission  is  urged  to  us,  in  a  contest  between  the 
representatives  and  ourselves,  and  where  nothing  can 
be  put  into  their  scale  which  is  not  taken  from  ours, 
they  fancy  us  to  be  children  when  they  tell  us  they 
are  our  representatives,  our  own  flesh  and  blood,  and 
that  all  the  stripes  they  give  us  are  for  our  good. 
The  very  desire  of  that  body  to  have  such  a  trust 
contrary  to  law  reposed  in  them,  shows  that  they  are 
not  worthy  of  it.  They  certainly  will  abuse  it ;  be- 
cause all  men  possessed  of  an  uncontrolled  discretion- 
ary power  leading  to  the  aggrandizement  and  profit 
of  their  own  body  have  always  abused  it :  and  I  see 
no  particular  sanctity  in  our  times,  that  is  at  all 
likely,  by  a  miraculous  operation,  to  overrule  the 
course  of  nature. 

But  we  must  purposely  shut  our  eyes,  if  we  con- 
sider this  matter  merely  as  a  contest  between  the 
House  of  Commons  and  the  electors.  The  true  con- 
test is  between  the  electors  of  the  kingdom  and  the 
crown  ;  the  crown  acting  by  an  instrumental  House 
of  Commons.  It  is  precisely  the  same,  whether  the 
ministers  of  the  crown  can  disqualify  by  a  dependent 
House  of  Commons,  or  by  a  dependent  Court  of  ^Star 
Chamber,  or  by  a  dependent  Court  of  King's  Bench. 


608  THOUGHTS   ON  THE   CAUSE 

If  once  members  of  Parliament  can  be  practically 
convinced  tbat  tliey  do  not  depend  on  tlie  affection 
or  opinion  of  the  people  for  their  political  being,  they 
will  give  themselves  over,  without  even  an  appear- 
ance of  reserve,  to  the  influence  of  the  court. 

Indeed  a  Parliament  unconnected  with  the  peo- 
ple is  essential  to  a  ministry  unconnected  with  the 
people ;  and  therefore  those  who  saw  through  what 
mighty  difficulties  the  interior  ministry  waded,  and 
the  exterior  were  dragged,  in  this  business,  wiU  con- 
ceive of  what  prodigious  importance,  tlie  new  corps 
of  king''s  men  held  this  principle  of  occasional  and 
personal  incapacitation,  to  the  whole  body  of  their 
design. 

When  the  House  of  Commons  was  thus  made  to 
consider  itself  as  the  master  of  its  constituents,  there 
wanted  but  one  thing  to  secure  that  House  against 
all  possible  future  deviation  towards  popularity :  an 
unlimited  fund  of  money  to  be  laid  out  according  to 
the  pleasure  of  the  court. 

To  complete  the  scheme  of  bringing  our  court  to  a 
resemblance  to  the  neighboring  monarchies,  it  was 
necessary,  in  effect,  to  destroy  those  appropriations 
of  revenue,  which  seem  to  limit  the  property,  as  the 
other  laws  had  done  the  powers,  of  the  crown.  An 
op))ortunity  for  this  purpose  was  taken,  upon  an 
ai)i)lication  to  Parliament  for  j)ayment  of  the  debts 
of  tlic  civil  list  ;  which  in  ITtJ'J  had  amounted  to 
51'3,000Z.  Such  ajjpHcation  had  been  made  upon 
former  occasions  ;  but  to  do  it  in  tl'c  former  manner 
wouhl  l)y  no  means  answer  the  present  purpose. 

Whenever  the  crown  had  come  to  the  commons  to 
desire  a  suj>j)ly  for  the  discharging  of  debts  (hie  on 
the  civil  list,  it  was  always  asUcd  and  granted  with 


OF  THE  PRESENT    DISCONTENTS.  509 

one  of  the  three  following  qualifications  ;  sometimes 
with  all  of  them.  Either  it  was  stated,  that  the  rev- 
enue had  heen  diverted  from  its  purposes  by  Parlia- 
ment ;  or  that  those  duties  had  fallen  short  of  the 
sum  for  which  they  were  given  by  Parliament,  and 
that  the  intention  of  the  legislature  had  not  been  ful- 
filled ;  or  that  the  money  required  to  discharge  the 
civil  list  debt  was  to  be  raised  chargeable  on  tlie 
civil  list  duties.  In  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  the 
crown  was  found  in  debt.  The  lessening  and  grant- 
ing away  some  part  of  her  revenue  by  Parliament 
was  alleged  as  the  cause  of  that  debt,  and  pleaded  as 
an  equitable  ground,  such  it  certainly  was,  for  dis- 
charging it.  It  does  not  appear  that  the  duties  which 
were  then  applied  to  the  ordinary  government  pro- 
duced clear  above  580,000/.  a  year ;  because,  when 
they  were  afterwards  granted  to  George  the  First, 
120,000/.  was  added  to  complete  the  whole  to  700,000/ 
a  year.  Indeed  it  was  then  asserted,  and,  I  have  no 
doubt,  truly,  that  for  many  years  the  net  produce  did 
not  amount  to  above  550,000/.  The  queen's  extraor- 
dinary charges  were  besides  very  considerable  ;  equal, 
at  least,  to  any  we  have  known  in  our  time.  The  ap- 
plication to  Parliament  was  not  for  an  absolute  grant 
of  money ;  but  to  empower  the  queen  to  raise  it  by 
borrowing  upon  the  civil  list  funds. 

The  civil  list  debt  was  twice  paid  in  the  reign  of 
George  the  First.  The  money  was  granted  upon  the 
same  plan  which  had  been  followed  in  the  reign  of 
Queen  Anne.  The  civil  list  revenues  were  then 
mortgaged  for  the  sum  to  be  raised,  and  stood 
charged  with  the  ransom  of  their  own  deliverance. 

George  the  Second  received  an  addition  to  his  civil 
list.     Duties  were  granted  for  the  purpose  of  raising 


510  THOQGHTS   ON    THE   CAUSE 

800,000Z.  a  year.  It  was  not  until  he  had  reigned 
nineteen  years,  and  after  the  last  rebellion,  that  he 
called  upon  Parliament  for  a  discharge  of  the  civil 
list  debt.  The  extraordinary  charges  brought  on  by 
the  rebellion,  account  fully  for  the  necessities  of  the 
crown.  However,  the  extraordinary  charges  of  gov- 
ernment were  not  thought  a  ground  fit  to  be  relied 
on. 

A  deficiency  of  the  civil  list  duties  for  several  years 
before  was  stated  as  the  principal,  if  not  the  sole 
ground  on  which  an  application  to  Parliament  could 
be  justified.  About  this  time  the  produce  of  these 
duties  had  fallen  pretty  low  ;  and  even  upon  an  aver- 
age of  the  whole  reign  they  never  produced  800,000Z. 
a  year  clear  to  the  treasury. 

That  prince  reigned  fourteen  years  afterwards: 
not  only  no  new  demands  were  made ;  but  with  so 
much  good  order  were  his  revenues  and  expenses 
regulated,  that,  although  many  parts  of  the  establish- 
ment of  the  court  were  upon  a  larger  and  more  liberal 
scale  tlian  they  have  been  since,  there  was  a  consider- 
able sum  in  hand,  on  his  decease,  amounting  to  about 
170,000^.  applicable  to  the  service  of  the  civil  list  of 
his  pi-escnt  Majesty.  So  that,  if  this  reign  com- 
menced with  a  greater  charge  than  usual,  there  was 
enough  and  more  than  enough,  abundantly  to  supply 
all  the  extraordinary  expense.  That  the  civil  list 
should  liave  been  exceeded  in  the  two  former  reigns, 
csjjccially  in  tlie  reign  of  George  the  First,  was  not  at 
all  surprising.  His  revenue  was  but  700,000/.  annu- 
ally ;  if  it  over  prodiic(>d  so  much  clear.  The  prodi- 
gious and  dangerous  disnlTuction  to  the  very  being  of 
tlio  ostablislniicnt,  ami  tlie  cause  of  a  pretender  then 
powerfully  abetted  from  abroad,  produced  many  de- 


OF  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  511 

mauds  of  an  extraordinary  nature  both  abroad  and 
id  home.  Much  management  and  great  expenses 
were  necessary.  But  the  throne  of  no  prmce  has 
stood  upon  more  unshaken  foundations  than  that  of 
his  present  Majesty. 

To  have  exceeded  the  sum  given  for  the  civil  list, 
and  to  have  incurred  a  debt  without  special  authority 
of  Parliament,  was  prima  facie,  a  criminal  act :  as 
such,  ministers  ought  naturally  rather  to  have  with- 
drawn it  from  the  inspection,  ihan  to  have  exposed  it 
to  the  scrutiny  of  Parliament.  Certainly  they  ought, 
of  themselves,  officially  to  have  come  armed  with 
every  sort  of  argument,  which,  by  explaining,  could 
excuse,  a  matter  in  itself  of  presumptive  guilt.  But 
the  terrors  of  the  House  of  Commons  are  no  longer 
for  ministers. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  peculiar  character  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  as  trustee  of  the  public  purse, 
would  have  led  them  to  call  with  a  punctilious  solici 
tude  for  every  public  account,  and  to  have  examined 
into  them  with  the  most  rigorous  accuracy. 

The  capital  use  of  an  account  is,  that  the  reality  of 
the  charge,  the  reason  of  incurring  it,  and  the  justice 
and  necessity  of  discharging  it,  should  all  appear  ante- 
cedent to  the  payment.  No  man  ever  pays  first,  and 
calls  for  his  account  afterwards;  because  he  would 
thereby  let  out  of  his  hands  the  principal,  and  indeed 
only  effectual,  means  of  compelling  a  full  and  fair 
one.  But,  in  national  business,  there  is  an  addition- 
al reason  for  a  previous  production  of  every  account. 
It  is  a  check,  perhaps  the  only  one,  upon  a  corrupt 
and  prodigal  use  of  public  money.  An  account 
after  payment  is  to  no  rational  purpose  an  account. 
However,  the  House  of  Commons  thought  all  these  to 


512  THOUCxHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

be  antiquated  principles :  they  were  of  opinion,  that 
the  most  ParHamentary  way  of  proceeding  was,  to 
pay  first  what  the  court  thought  proper  to  demand, 
and  to  take  its  chance  for  an  examination  into  ac- 
counts at  some  time  of  greater  leisure. 

The  nation  had  settled  800,000^  a  year  on  the 
crown,  as  sufficient  for  the  support  of  its  dignity, 
upon  the  estimate  of  its  own  ministers.  When  min- 
isters came  to  Parliament,  and  said  that  this  allow- 
ance had  not  been  sufficient  for  the  purpose,  and  that 
they  had  incurred  a  debt  of  500,000/.,  would  it  not 
liave  been  natural  for  Parliament  first  to  liave  asked 
how,  and  by  what  means,  their  appropriated  allow 
ance  came  to  be  insufficient?  Would  it  not  have 
savored  of  some  attention  to  justice,  to  have  seen  in 
what  periods  of  administration  this  debt  had  been 
originally  incurred;  that  they  might  discover,  and 
if  need  were,  animadvert  on  the  persons  who  were 
found  the  most  culpable  ?  To  put  their  hands  upon 
such  articles  of  expenditure  as  they  thought  improp- 
er or  excessive,  and  to  secure,  in  future,  against 
such  misapplication  or  exceeding?  Accounts  for  any 
other  purposes  are  but  a  matter  of  curiosity,  and 
no  genuine  Parliamentajy  object.  All  the  accounts 
which  could  answer  any  Parliamentary  end  were  re- 
fused, or  postponed  by  previous  questions.  Every 
idea  of  prevention  was  rejected,  as  conveying  an  im- 
proper suspicion  of  the  ministers  of  the  crown. 

When  every  leading  account  luid  been  refused, 
many  otliers  were  granted  with  sulhcicnt  faciUty. 

IJut  with  great  candor  also,  the  House  was  in- 
fonncid,  that  hardly  any  of  them  could  be  ready 
\intil  the  next  session  ;  some  of  them  perhaps  not 
Ko  soon.     ]iut,  in  order  firmly  to  establish  Uio  preco- 


OP   THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  5V6 

dent  of  payment  previous  to  account^  and  to  form  it 
into  a  settled  rule  of  the  House,  the  god  in  the  ma- 
chine was  brought  down,  notliing  less  than  the  won- 
der-working law  of  Parliament.  It  was  alleged,  that 
it  is  the  law  of  Parliament,  when  any  demand  comes 
from  the  crown,  that  the  House  must  go  immediately 
into  the  committee  of  supply  ;  in  which  committee  it 
was  allowed,  that  the  production  and  examination  of 
accounts  would  be  quite  proper  and  regular.  It  was 
therefore  carried,  that  they  should  go  into  the  com- 
mittee without  delay,  and  without  accounts,  in  order 
to  examine  with  great  order  and  regularity  things 
that  could  not  possibly  come  before  them.  After  this 
stroke  of  orderly  and  Parliamentary  wit  and  humor, 
they  went  into  the  committee ;  and  very  generously 
voted  the  payment. 

There  was  a  circumstance  in  that  debate  too  re- 
markable to  be  overlooked.  This  debt  of  the  ci\41  list 
was  all  along  argued  upon  the  same  footing  as  a  debt 
of  the  state,  contracted  upon  national  authority.  Its 
payment  was  urged  as  equally  pressing  upon  the  pub- 
lic faith  and  honor ;  and  when  the  whole  year's  ac- 
count was  stated,  in  what  is  called  the  budget,  the  min- 
istry valued  themselves  on  the  payment  of  so  much 
public  debt,  just  as  if  they  had  discharged  500,000Z. 
of  navy  or  exchequer  bills.  Though,  in  truth,  tlieir 
payment,  from  the  sinking  fund,  of  debt  which  was 
never  contracted  by  Parliamentary  authority,  was,  to 
all  intents  and  purposes,  so  much  debt  incurred. 
But  such  is  the  present  notion  of  public  credit,  and 
payment  of  debt.  No  wonder  that  it  produces  such 
effects. 

Nor  was  the  House  at  all  more  attentive  to  a  provi- 
dent security  against  future,  than  it  had  been  to  a  vin- 

VOL.  I.  33 


514  THOUGHTS   OS    THE   CAUSE 

dictive  retrospect  to  past  mismanagements.  I  should 
have  thought  indeed  that  a  ministerial  promise,  dur- 
ing their  own  continuance  in  office,  might  have  been 
given,  though  this  would  have  been  but  a  poor  secu- 
rity for  the  public.  Mr.  Pelham  gave  such  an  assur- 
ance, and  he  kept  his  word.  But  nothing  was  capable 
of  extorting  from  our  ministers  anything  which  had 
the  least  resemblance  to  a  promise  of  confining  the 
expenses  of  the  civil  list  within  the  limits  which  had 
been  settled  by  Parliament.  This  reserve  of  theirs  I 
look  upon  to  be  equivalent  to  the  clearest  declaration, 
that  they  were  resolved  upon  a  contrary  course. 

However,  to  put  the  matter  beyond  all  doubt,  in 
the  speech  from  the  throne,  after  thanking  Parlia- 
ment for  the  relief  so  liberally  granted,  the  ministers 
inform  the  two  Houses,  that  they  will  endeavor  to  con- 
fine the  expenses  of  the  civil  government  —  within 
what  limits,  think  you  ?  those  which  the  law  had  pre 
scribed  ?  Not  in  the  least  —  "  such  limits  as  the  ho7i- 
or  of  the  crown  can  possibly  admit." 

Thus  they  established  an  arbitrary  standard  for  that 
dignity  which  Parliament  had  defined  and  limited  to 
a  legal  standard.  They  gave  themselves,  under  the 
lax  and  indeterminate  idea  of  the  honor  of  the  crown, 
a  full  loose  for  all  manner  of  dissipation,  and  all  man- 
ner of  corruption.  This  arljitrary  standard  they  were 
not  afraid  to  hold  out  to  both  Houses ;  while  an  idle 
and  uiioperative  act  of  Parliament,  estimating  the  dig- 
nity of  the  crown  at  800,000/.  and  confining  it  to  that 
sum,  adds  to  the  number  of  obsolete  statutes  which 
load  the  shelves  of  libraries,  without  any  sort  of  ad- 
vantage to  the  people. 

After  this  proceeding,  I  suppose  that  no  man  can 
be  so  weak  as  to  think  (hat  the  crown  is  limited  to 


OF  THE    PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  51-5 

any  settled  allowance  wliatsoevcr.  For  if  the  minis- 
try has  800,000?.  a  year  by  the  law  of  the  land ;  and 
if  by  the  law  of  Parliament  all  the  debts  which  exceed 
it*  are  to  be  paid  previously  to  the  production  of  any 
account ;  I  presume  that  this  is  equivalent  to  an  in- 
come with  no  other  limits  than  the  abilities  of  the 
subject  and  the  moderation  of  the  court ;  that  is  to 
,  say,  it  is  such  an  income  as  is  possessed  by  every  ab- 
solute monarch  in  Europe.  It  amounts,  as  a  person 
of  great  ability  said  in  the  debate,  to  an  unlimited 
power  of  drawing  upon  the  sinking  fund.  Its  effect 
on  the  public  credit  of  this  kingdom  must  be  obvious  ; 
for  in  vain  is  the  sinking  fund  the  great  buttress  of  all 
the  rest,  if  it  be  in  the  power  of  the  ministry  to  resort 
to  it  for  the  payment  of  any  debts  which  they  may 
choose  to  incur,  under  the  name  of  the  civil  list,  and 
through  the  medium  of  a  committee,  which  thinks  it- 
self obliged  by  law  to  vote  supplies  without  any  other 
account  than  that  of  the  mere  existence  of  the  debt. 
Five  hundred  thousand  pounds  is  a  serious  sum. 
But  it  is  nothing  to  the  prolific  principle  upon  which 
the  sum  was  voted:  a  principle  that  may  be  well 
called,  the  fruitful  mother  of  an  hundred  more.  Nei- 
ther is  the  damage  to  public  credit  of  very  great  con- 
sequence, when  compared  with  that  which  results  to 
public  morals  and  to  the  safety  of  the  constitution, 
from  the  exhaustless  mine  of  corruption  opened  by 
the  precedent,  and  to  be  wrought  by  tlie  principle,  of 
the  late  payment  of  the  debts  of  the  civil  list.  The 
power  of  discretionary  disqualification  by  one  law  of 
Parliament,  and  the  neceesity  of  paying  every  debt  of 
the  civil  list  by  another  law  of  Parliament,  if  suffered 
to  pass  unnoticed,  must  establish  such  a  fund  of  re- 
wards and  terrors  as  will  make  Parliament  the  best 


516  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

appendage  and  support  of  arbitrary  power  that  ever 
was  invented  by  the  wit  of  man.  This  is  felt.  The 
quarrel  is  begun  between  the  representatives  and  the 
people.  The  court  faction  have  at  length  committed 
them. 

In  such  a  strait  the  wisest  may  well  be  perplexed, 
and  the  boldest  staggered.  The  circumstances  are  in 
a  great  measure  new.  We  have  hardly  any  land- 
marks from  the  wisdom  of  our  ancestors,  to  guide  us. 
At  best  we  can  only  follow  the  spirit  of  their  proceed- 
ing in  other  cases.  I  know  the  diligence  with  which 
my  observations  on  our  public  disorders  have  been 
made  ;  I  am  very  sure  of  the  integrity  of  the  motives 
on  which  they  are  published :  I  cannot  be  equally 
confident  in  any  plan  for  the  absolute  cure  of  those 
disorders,  or  for  their  certain  future  prevention.  My 
aim  is  to  bring  this  matter  into  more  public  discus- 
sion. Let  the  sagacity  of  others  work  upon  it.  It  is 
not  uncommon  for  medical  writers  to  describe  histo- 
ries of  diseases  very  accurately,  on  whose  cure  they 
can  say  but  very  little. 

The  first  ideas  wliich  generally  suggest  themselves, 
for  the  cure  of  Parliamentary  disorders,  are,  to  short- 
en the  duration  of  Parliaments;  and  to  dit^qualify 
all,  or  a  great  number  of  placemen,  from  a  seat  in 
the  House  of  Commons.  Whatever  ellicacy  there 
may  be  in  those  remedies,  I  am  sure  in  the  present 
state  of  things  it  is  impossible  to  ap[)ly  them.  A 
restoration  of  the  right  of  free  election  is  a  prelimina- 
ry indispensable  to  every  other  reformation.  What 
alterations  ought  afterwards  to  be  made  in  the  consti- 
tution, is  a  matter  of  deep  and  difficult  research. 

If  1  wrote  merely  to  jileaso  the  popuhir  palate,  it 
would  indeed  be  as  little  troublesome  to  me  as  to  an- 


OP   THE   PEESENT   DISCONTENTS.  bll 

other,  to  extol  these  remedies,  so  famous  in  specula- 
tion, hut  to  which  their  greatest  admirers  have  never 
attempted  seriously  to  resort  hi  practice.  I  confess 
then,  that  I  have  no  sort  of  reliance  upon  either  a  tri 
ennial  Parliament,  or  a  place-hill.  With  regard  to 
the  former,  perhaps  it  might  rather  serve  to  counter- 
act, than  to  promote  the  ends  that  are  proposed  hy  it. 
To  say  nothing  of  the  horrihle  disorders  among  the 
people  attending  frequent  elections,  I  should  be  fear- 
ful of  committing,  every  three  years,  the  hidependent 
gentlemen  of  the  country  into  a  contest  with  the 
treasury.  It  is  easy  to  see  which  of  the  contending 
parties  would  be  ruined  first.  Whoever  has  taken  a 
careful  view  of  public  proceedings,  so  as  to  endeavor 
to  ground  his  speculations  on  his  experience,  must 
have  observed  how  prodigiously  greater  the  power  of 
ministry  is  in  the  first  and  last  session  of  a  Parlia- 
ment, than  it  is  in  the  intermediate  period,  when 
members  sit  a  little  firm  on  their  seats.  The  persons 
of  the  greatest  Parliamentary  experience,  with  whom 
I  have  conversed,  did  constantly,  in  canvassing  the 
fate  of  questions,  allow  something  to  the  court  side, 
upon  account  of  the  elections  depending  or  immi- 
nent. The  evil  complained  of,  if  it  exists  in  the  pres- 
ent state  of  things,  would  hardly  be  removed  by  a 
triennial  Parliament :  for,  unless  the  influence  of 
government  in  elections  can  be  entirely  taken  away, 
the  more  frequently  they  return,  the  more  they  wiJl 
harass  private  independence ;  the  more  generally 
men  will  be  compelled  to  fly  to  the  settled  system- 
atic interest  of  government,  and  to  the  resources  of  a 
boundless  civil  list.  Certahily  something  may  be 
done,  and  ought  to  be  done,  towards  lessening  that 
influence  in  elections ;  and  this  will  be  necessary  up- 


518  THOUGHTS   ON    THE   CAUSE 

on  a  plan  either  of  longer  or  shorter  duration  of  Par- 
liament. But  nothing  can  so  perfectly  remove  the 
evil,  as  not  to  render  such  contentions,  too  frequent- 
ly repeated,  utterly  ruinous,  first  to  independence  of 
fortune,  and  then  to  independence  of  spirit.  As  I 
am  only  giving  an  opinion  on  this  point,  and  not  at 
all  debating  it  in  an  adverse  line,  I  hope  I  may  he 
excused  in  another  observation.  With  great  truth  I 
may  aver,  that  I  never  remember  to  have  talked  on 
this  subject  with  any  man  much  conversant  with 
public  business,  who  considered  sliort  Parliaments  as 
a  real  improvement  of  the  constitution.  Gentlemen, 
warm  in  a  popular  cause,  are  ready  enough  to  attrib- 
ute all  the  declarations  of  such  persons  to  corrupt 
motives.  But  the  liabit  of  affairs,  if,  on  one  hand,  it 
tends  to  corrupt  the  mind,  furnishes  it,  on  the  other, 
with  tlic  means  of  better  information.  The  authori- 
ty of  such  persons  will  always  have  some  weight.  It 
may  stand  upon  a  par  with  the  speculations  of  those 
who  are  less  practised  in  business ;  and  who,  with 
perhaps  purer  intentions,  have  not  so  effectual  means 
of  judging.  It  is  besides  an  effect  of  vulgar  and  pu- 
erile malignity  to  imagine,  that  every  statesman  is  of 
course  corrupt ;  and  that  his  opinion,  upon  every 
constitiitional  point,  is  solely  formed  upon  some  sinis- 
ter interest. 

The  next  f\ivorite  remedy  is  a  place-bill.  The  same 
principle  guides  in  both  ;  I  mean,  the  opinion  which 
is  entertained  by  many,  of  the  infallil)ility  of  laws 
and  regulations,  in  tlie  cure  of  ])ul)lic  distempers. 
Witliout  being  as  unrcasonal)ly  doubtl'ul  as  many  are 
unwisely  confident,  I  will  only  say,  that  this  also  is 
a  matter  very  well  wortliy  of  serious  and  mature  re- 
flection.    It  is  not  easy  to  foresee,  wliat  the  cfTcct 


OP  THE  PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  519 

would  be,  of  disconnecting  with  Parliament  the  great- 
est part  of  those  who  hold  civil  employments,  and  of 
such  mighty  and  important  bodies  as  the  military  and 
naval  establishments.  It  were  better,  perhaps,  that 
they  should  have  a  corrupt  interest  in  the  forms  of 
the  constitution,  than  that  they  should  have  none  at 
all.  This  is  a  question  altogether  different  from  the 
disqualification  of  a  particular  description  of  revenue- 
ofhcers  from  scats  in  Parliament ;  or,  perhaps,  of  all 
the  lower  sorts  of  them  from  votes  in  elections.  In 
the  former  case,  only  the  few  are  affected ;  in  the  lat- 
ter, only  the  inconsiderable.  But  a  great  official,  a 
great  professional,  a  great  military  and  naval  interest, 
all  necessarily  comprehending  many  people  of  the 
first  weight,  ability,  wealth,  and  spirit,  has  been  grad- 
ually formed  in  the  kingdom.  These  new  interests 
must  be  let  into  a  share  of  representation,  else  pos- 
sibly they  may  be  inclined  to  destroy  those  institu- 
tions of  which  they  are  not  permitted  to  partake. 
This  is  not  a  thing  to  be  trifled  with  ;  nor  is  it  every 
well-meaning  man  that  is  fit  to  put  his  hands  to  it. 
Many  other  serious  considerations  occur.  I  do  not 
open  them  here,  because  they  are  not  directly  to  my 
purpose  ;  proposing  only  to  give  the  reader  some  taste 
of  the  difficulties  that  attend  all  capital  changes  in 
the  constitution  ;  just  to  hint  the  uncertainty,  to  say 
no  worse,  of  being  able  to  prevent  the  court,  as  long 
as  it  has  the  means  of  infl\ience  abundantly  in  its 
power,  of  applyhig  that  influence  to  Parliament ;  and 
perhaps,  if  the  public  method  were  precluded,  of 
doing  it  in  some  worse  and  more  dangerous  meth- 
od. Underhand  and  oblique  ways  would  be  studied. 
The  science  of  evasion,  already  tolerably  understood, 
would  then  be  brought  to  the  greatest  perfection. 


520  THOUGHTS   ON  THE    CAUSE 

It  is  no  inconsiderable  part  of  wisdom,  to  know  how 
much  of  an  evil  ought  to  be  tolerated ;  lest,  by  at- 
tempting a  degree  of  purity  impracticable  in  degener- 
ate times  and  manners,  instead  of  cutting  off  the 
subsisting  ill-practices,  new  corruptions  might  be  pro- 
duced for  the  concealment  and  security  of  the  old. 
It  were  better,  undoubtedly,  that  no  influence  at  all 
could  aifect  the  mind  of  a  member  of  Parliament. 
But  of  all  modes  of  influence,  in  my  opinion,  a  place 
under  the  government  is  the  least  disgraceful  to  the 
man  who  holds  it,  and  by  far  the  most  safe  to  the 
country.  I  would  not  shut  out  that  sort  of  influence 
which  is  open  and  visible,  which  is  connected  with 
the  dignity  and  the  service  of  the  state,  when  it  is 
not  in  my  power  to  prevent  the  influence  of  contracts, 
of  subscriptions,  of  direct  bribery,  and  those  innumer- 
able methods  of  clandestine  corruption,  which  are 
abundantly  in  the  hands  of  the  court,  and  which  will 
be  applied  as  long  as  these  means  of  corruption, 
and  the  disposition  to  be  corrupted,  have  existence 
amongst  us.  Our  constitution  stands  on  a  nice  equi- 
poise, with  steep  precipices  and  deep  waters  upon  all 
sides  of  it.  In  removing  it  from  a  dangerous  leaning 
towards  one  side,  there  may  be  a  risk  of  oversetting 
it  on  the  other.  Every  project  of  a  material  change 
in  a  government  so  complicated  as  ours,  combined  at 
the  same  time  with  external  circumstances  still  more 
complicated,  is  a  matter  full  of  difficulties  :  in  whicli 
a  considerate  man  wifl  not  be  too  ready  to  decide  ;  a 
pnuh^nt  man  too  ready  to  undertake  ;  or  an  honest 
man  too  ready  to  promise.  Tlicy  do  iiot  respect  the 
pul)iic  nor  themselves,  who  engage  for  more  than 
they  arc  sure  that  thoy  ouglit  to  attemi)t,  or  that  they 
are  able  to  jjerform.     Tiicse  are  my  sentiments,  weak 


OF   THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  521 

perhaps,  but  honest  and  unbiassed  ;  and  submitted 
entirely  to  tlie  opinion  of  grave  men,  well-affected  to 
the  constitution  of  their  country,  and  of  experience 
in  what  may  best  promote  or  hurt  it. 

Indeed,  in  the  situation  in  which  we  stand,  with  an 
immense  revenue,  an  enormous  debt,  mighty  estab- 
lislunents,  government  itself  a  great  banker  and  a 
great  merchant,  I  see  no  other  way  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  a  decent  attention  to  public  interest  in  the 
reprei.;cntatives,  but  the  interposition  of  the  body  of  the 
people  itself^  whenever  it  shall  appear,  by  some  flagrant 
and  notorious  act,  by  some  capital  innovation,  that 
these  representatives  are  going  to  overleap  the  fences 
of  the  law,  and  to  introduce  an  arbiti-ary  power. 
This  interposition  is  a  most  unpleasant  remedy.  But, 
if  it  be  a  legal  remedy,  it  is  intended  on  some  occa- 
sion to  be  used ;  to  be  used  then  only,  when  it  is 
evident  that  nothing  else  can  hold  the  constitution 
to  its  true  principles. 

The  distempers  of  monarchy  were  the  great  sub- 
jects of  apprehension  and  redress,  in  the  last  cen- 
tury ;  in  this  the  distempers  of  Parliament.  It  is  ' 
not  in  Parliament  alone  that  the  remedy  for  Parlia- 
mentary disorders  can  be  completed  ;  hardly  indeed 
can  it  begin  there.  Until  a  confidence  in  govern- 
ment is  re-established,  the  people  ought  to  be  excited 
to  a  more  strict  and  detailed  attention  to  the  conduct 
of  their  representatives.  Standards  for  judging  more 
systematically  upon  their  conduct  ought  to  be  settled 
in  the  meetings  of  counties  and  corporations.  Fre- 
quent and  correct  lists  of  the  voters  in  all  important 
questions  ought  to  be  procured. 

By  such  means  something  may  be  done.  By  such 
means  it  may  appear  who  those  are,  that,  by  an  indis- 


522  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

criminate  support  of  all  administrations,  have  totally 
banished  all  integrity  and  confidence  out  of  public 
proceedings  ;  have  confounded  the  best  men  with  the 
worst;  and  weakened  and  dissolved,  instead  of 
strengthening  and  compacting,  the  general  frame  of 
government.  If  any  person  is  more  concerned  for 
government  and  order,  than  for  the  liberties  of  his 
03untry  ;  even  he  is  equally  concerned  to  put  an  end 
to  this  course  of  indiscriminate  support.  It  is  this 
blind  and  undistinguishing  support,  that  feeds  the 
spring  of  those  very  disorders,  by  which  he  is  fright- 
ened into  the  arms  of  the  faction  which  contains  in 
itself  the  source  of  all  disorders,  by  enfeebling  all  the 
visible  and  regular  authority  of  the  state.  The  dis- 
temper is  increased  by  his  injudicious  and  preposter- 
ous endeavors,  or  pretences,  for  the  cure  of  it. 

An  exterior  administration,  chosen  for  its  impo- 
tency,  or  after  it  is  chosen  purposely  rendered  impo- 
tent, in  order  to  be  rendered  subservient,  will  not  be 
obeyed.  The  laws  themselves  will  not  be  respected, 
when  those  who  execute  them  are  despised :  and  they 
will  be  despised,  when  their  power  is  not  immediate 
from  tlie  crown,  or  natural  in  the  kingdom.  Never 
were  ministers  better  supported  in  Parliament.  Par- 
liamentary support  comes  and  goes  with  oihce,  totally 
regardless  of  the  man,  or  the  merit.  Is  government 
strengthened?  It  grows  weaker  and  weaker.  The 
popular  torrent  gains  upon  it  every  hour.  Let  us 
learn  from  our  experience.  It  is  not  support  that  is 
wanting  to  goveninicnt,  but  reformation.  When 
ministry  rests  upon  j)ublic  (>|)inioii,  i(,  is  not  indeed 
built  upon  a  rock  of  adamant ;  it  has,  however,  some 
stability.  J>ut  when  it  stands  upon  private  luimor, 
its  structure  is  of  stuhljlc,  and  iis  foundation  is  on 


OF   THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  523 

quicksand,  I  repeat  it  again,  —  He  that  supports  ev- 
ery administration  subverts  all  government.  The 
reason  is  this :  The  whole  business  in  which  a  court 
usually  takes  an  interest  goes  on  at  present  equally 
well,  in  whatever  hands,  whether  high  or  low,  wise 
or  foolish,  scandalous  or  reputable ;  there  is  nothing 
therefore  to  hold  it  firm  to  any  one  body  of  men,  or 
to  any  one  consistent  scheme  of  politics.  Nothing 
interposes,  to  prevent  the  full  operation  of  all  the  ca- 
prices and  all  the  passions  of  a  court  upon  the  ser- 
vants of  the  public.  The  system  of  administration  is 
open  to  continual  shocks  and  changes,  upoji  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  meanest  cabal,  and  the  most  contemptible 
intrigue.  Nothing  can  be  solid  and  permanent.  All 
good  men  at  length  fly  with  horror  from  such  a  ser- 
vice. Men  of  rank  and  ability,  with  the  spirit  which 
ought  to  animate  such  men  in  a  free  state,  while  they 
decline  the  jurisdiction  of  dark  cabal  on  their  actions 
and  their  fortunes,  will,  for  both,  cheerfully  put 
themselves  upon  their  country.  They  will  trust  an 
inquisitive  and  distinguishing  Parliament ;  because  it 
does  inquire,  and  does  distinguish.  If  they  act  well, 
they  know,  that,  in  such  a  Parliament  they  will  be 
supported  against  any  intrigue ;  if  they  act  ill,  they 
know  that  no  intrigue  can  protect  them.  This  situa 
tion,  however  awful,  is  honorable.  But  in  one  hour, 
and  in  the  self-same  assembly,  without  any  assigned 
or  assignable  cause,  to  be  precipitated  from  the  high- 
est authority  to  the  most  marked  neglect,  possibly  in- 
to the  greatest  peril  of  life  and  reputation,  is  a  situa- 
tion full  of  danger,  and  destitute  of  honor.  It  will 
be  shunned  equally  by  every  man  of  prudence,  and 
every  man  of  spirit. 

Such  are  the  consequences  of  tJ'e  division  of  court 


524  THOUGHTS   ON   THE    CAUSE 

from  the  administration  ;  and  of  the  division  of  pub- 
lic men  among  themselves.  By  the  former  of  these, 
lawful  government  is  undone  ;  by  the  latter,  all  oppo- 
sition to  lawless  power  is  rendered  impotent.  Gov- 
ernment may  in  a  great  measure  be  restored,  if  any 
considerable  bodies  of  men  have  honesty  and  resolu- 
tion enough  never  to  accept  administration,  unless 
this  garrison  of  king^s  men,  which  is  stationed,  as  in  a 
citadel,  to  control  and  enslave  it,  be  entirely  broken 
and  disbanded,  and  every  work  they  have  thrown  up 
be  levelled  with  the  ground.  The  disposition  of  pub- 
lic men  to  keep  this  corps  together,  and  to  act  under 
it,  or  to  co-operate  with  it,  is  a  touchstone  by  which 
every  administration  ought  in  future  to  be  tried. 
There  has  not  been  one  which  has  not  sufficiently  ex- 
perienced the  utter  incompatibility  of  that  faction 
with  the  public  peace,  and  with  all  the  ends  of  good 
government :  since,  if  they  opposed  it,  they  soon  lost 
every  power  of  serving  the  crown ;  if  they  submitted 
to  it,  they  lost  all  the  esteem  of  their  country.  Until 
ministers  give  to  the  public  a  full  proof  of  their  entire 
alienation  from  that  system,  however  plausible  their 
pretences,  we  may  be  sure  they  are  more  intent  on 
the  emoluments  than  the  duties  of  office.  If  they  re- 
fuse to  give  this  proof,  we  know  of  what  stuff  they 
are  made.  In  this  particular,  it  ought  to  be  the  elec- 
tors' business  to  look  to  their  representatives.  The 
electors  ought  to  esteem  it  no  less  culpable  in  their 
member  to  give  a  single  vote  in  Parliament  to  such 
an  administration,  than  to  take  an  office  under  it ;  to 
endure  it,  than  to  act  in  it.  The  notorious  infidelity 
and  versatility  of  mcnilx-rs  of  rarlianient,  in  their 
oj)inions  of  inim  and  things,  ought  in  a  particular 
manner  to  be  considered  by  the  electors  in  the  in- 


OP   THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  525 

quiry  which  is  recommended  to  them.  This  is  one 
of  the  principal  hoklings  of  that  destructive  system, 
which  has  endeavored  to  unhinge  all  the  virtuous, 
honorable,  and  useful  connections  in  the  kingdom. 

This  cabal  has,  with  great  success,  propagated  a 
doctrine  which   serves  for  a  color  to  those  acts  of 
treachery  ;  and  whilst  it  receives  any  degree  of  coun- 
tenance it  will  be  utterly  senseless  to  look  for  a  vig- 
orous opposition  to  the  court  party.     The  doctrine  is; 
this :    That  all  political  connections  are  in  their  na- ;; 
ture  factious,  and  as  such  ought  to  be  dissipated  and 
destroyed  ;  and  that  the  rule  for  forming  administra- 
tions is  mere  personal  ability,  rated  by  the  judgment 
of  this  cabal  upon  it,  and  taken  by  drauglits  from  ' 
every  division  and.  denomination  of  public  men.     This  • 
decree  was  solemnly  promulgated  by  the  head  of 
the  court  corps,  the  Earl  of  Bute  himself,  in  a  speech 
which  he  made,  in  the  year  1766,  against  the  then 
administration,  the  only  administration  which  he  has 
ever  been  known  directly  and  publicly  to  oppose. 

It  is  indeed  in  no  way  wonderful,  that  such  persons 
should  make  such  declarations.  That  connection  and 
faction  are  equivalent  terms,  is  an  opinion  which  has 
been  carefully  inculcated  at  all  times  by  unconstitu- 
tional statesmen.  The  reason  is  evident.  Whilst  men 
are  linked  together,  they  easily  and  speedily  communi- 
cate the  alarm  of  any  evil  design.  They  are  enabled 
to  fathom  it  with  common  counsel,  and  to  oppose  it 
with  united  strength.  Whereas,  when  they  lie  dis- 
persed, without  concert,  order,  or  discipline,  commu- 
nication is  uncertain,  counsel  difficult,  and  resistance 
impracticable.  "Wliere  men  are  not  acquainted  with 
eacli  other's  principles,  nor  experienced  in  each  oth- 
er's talents,  nor  at  all  practised  in  their  mutual  habi- 


526  THOUGHTS    ON    THE    CAUSE 

tildes  and  dispositions  by  joint  efforts  in  business  ;  uo 
personal  confidence,  no  friendship,  no  common  inter- 
est, subsisting  among  them  ;  it  is  evidently  impossible 
that  they  can  act  a  public  part  with  uniformity,  per- 
severance, or  efficacy.  In  a  connection,  the  most  in- 
considerable man,  by  adding  to  the  weight  of  the 
whole,  has  his  value,  and  his  use  ;  out  of  it,  the  great- 
est talents  are  wholly  unserviceable  to  the  public.  No 
man,  who  is  not  inflamed  by  vainglory  into  enthusi- 
asm, can  flatter  himself  that  his  single,  unsupported, 
desultory,  unsystematic  endeavors  are  of  power  to  de- 
feat the  subtle  designs  and  united  cabals  of  ambitious 
citizens.  When  bad  men  combine,  the  good  must  as- 
sociate ;  else  they  will  fall,  one  by  one,  an  unpitied 
sacrifice  in  a  contemptible  struggle. 
r~  It  is  not  enough  in  a  situation  of  trust  in  the  com- 
monwealth, that  a  man  means  well  to  'his  country ; 
it  is  not  enough  that  in  his  single  person  he  never 
did  an  evil  act,  but  always  voted  according  to  his 
conscience,  and  even  harangued  against  every  design 
which  he  apprehended  to  be  prejudicial  to  the  inter- 
ests of  his  country.  This  innoxious  and  ineffectual 
character,  that  seems  formed  upon  a  i)lan  of  apology 
and  disculpation,  falls  miseral)ly  short  of  the  mark  of 
public  duty.  That  duty  demands  and  requires,  that 
wliat  is  right  sliould  not  only  be  made  known,  but 
made  prevalent ;  that  what  is  evil  should  not  only  be 
detected,  but  defeated.  When  the  public  man  omits 
to  jiut  liinisolf  ill  a  situation  of  doing  his  duty  with 
effect,  it  is  an  omission  that  frustrates  the  purposes 
of  his  trust  almost  as  much  as  if  he  had  formally  be- 
trayed it.  It  is  surely  no  very  rational  account  of  a 
man's  life,  that  he  has  always  acted  right ;  but  has 
taken  special  care,  to  act  in  such  a  manner  that  his 


OP  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  527 

endeavors  could  not  possibly  be  productive  of  any 
consequence. 

I  do  not  wonder  that  the  behavior  of  many  par- 
ties should  have  made  persons  of  tender  and  scrupu- 
lous virtue  somewhat  out  of  humor  witli  all  sorts  of 
connection  in  politics.  I  admit  that  people  frequently 
acquire  in  such  confederacies  a  narrow,  bigoted,  and 
prescriptive  spirit ;  that  they  are  apt  to  sink  the  idea 
of  the  general  good  in  this  circumscribed  and  par- 
tial interest.  But,  where  duty  renders  a  critical  sit- 
uation a  necessary  one,  it  is  our  business  to  keep  free 
from  the  evils  attendant  upon  it ;  and  not  to  fly  from 
the  situation  itself.  If  a  fortress  is  seated  in  an  un- 
wholesome air,  an  officer  of  the  garrison  is  obliged  to 
be  attentive  to  liis  health,  but  he  must  not  desert  his 
station.  Every  profession,  not  excepting  the  glori- 
ous one  of  a  soldier,  or  the  sacred  one  of  a  priest,  is 
liable  to  its  own  particular  vices  ;  wliich,  however, 
form  no  argument  against  tliose  ways  of  life  ;  nor  are 
the  vices  themselves  inevitable  to  every  individual  in 
those  professions.  Of  such  a  nature  are  connections 
in  politics  ;  essentially  necessary  for  the  full  perform- 
ance of  our  public  duty,  accidentally  liable  to  de- 
generate into  faction.  Commonwealths  are  made  of 
families,  free  commonwealths  of  parties  also  ;  and  we 
may  as  well  affirm,  that  our  natural  regards  and  ties 
of  blood  tend  inevitably  to  make  men  bad  citizens,  as 
that  the  bonds  of  our  party  weaken  those  by  which 
we  are  held  to  our  country. 

Some  legislators  went  so  far  as  to  make  neutrality 
in  party  a  crime  against  the  state.  I  do  not  know 
whether  this  might  not  have  been  rather  to  overstrain 
the  principle.  Certain  it  is,  the  best  patriots  in  the 
greatest    commonwealths    have    always    commended 


528  THOUGHTS   ON    THE   CAUSE 

and  promoted  such  connections.  Idem  sentire  de 
repuhlica,  was  with  them  a  principal  ground  of  friend- 
ship and  attachment ;  nor  do  I  know  any  other  capa- 
ble of  forming  firmer,  dearer,  more  pleasing,  more 
honorable,  and  more  virtuous  habitudes.  The  Ro- 
mans carried  this  principle  a  great  way.  Even  the 
holding  of  offices  together,  the  disposition  of  which 
arose  from  chance,  not  selection,  gave  rise  to  a  rela- 
tion which  continued  for  life.  It  was  called  neeessi- 
tudo  sortis ;  and  it  was  looked  *upon  with  a  sacred 
reverence.  Breaches  of  any  of  these  kinds  of  civil 
relation  were  considered  as  acts  of  the  most  distin- 
guished turpitude.  The  whole  people  was  distributed 
into  political  societies,  in  which  they  acted  in  "support 
of  such  interests  in  the  state  as  they  severally  affect- 
ed. For  it  was  then  thought  no  crime  to  endeavor 
by  every  honest  means  to  advance  to  superiority  and 
power  those  of  your  own  sentiments  and  opinions. 
Tliis  wise  people  was  far  from  imagining  that  those 
connections  had  no  tie,  and  obliged  to  no  duty ; 
but  that  men  miglit  quit  them  without  shame,  upon 
every  call  of  interest.  They  believed  private  lionor 
to  be  the  great  foundation  of  public  trust ;  tbat  friend- 
sliip  was  no  mean  step  towards  patriotism  ;  that  he 
wbo,  in  the  common  intercourse  of  life,  showed  he 
regarded  somebody  besides  himself,  when  he  came  to 
act  in  a  public  situation,  might  probably  consult  some 
otber  interest  than  his  own.  Never  may  we  become 
fhuH  mgcH  que  lei>  ftriffes,  as  the  French  comedian  has 
liapj)lly  expressed  it,  wiser  than  all  tbe  wise  and  good 
men  wbo  bave  lived  before  us.  It  was  their  wish,  to 
see  pril)lic  and  private  virtues,  not  dissonant  and  jar- 
ring, and  mutually  destructive,  but  harmoniously 
combined,  growing  out  of  one  anoMicr   in  a  noble 


OP  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  529 

and  orderly  gradation,  reciprocally  supporting  and 
supported.  In  one  of  the  most  fortunate  periods  of 
our  history  this  country  was  governed  by  a  connection; 
I  mean,  the  great  connection  of  Whigs  in  the  reign 
of  Queen  Anne.  They  were  complimented  upon  the 
principle  of  this  connection  by  a  poet  who  was  in  high 
esteem  with  them.  Addison,  who  knew  their  senti- 
ments, could  not  praise  them  for  what  they  considered 
as  no  proper  subject  of  commendation.  As  a  poet  who 
knew  his  business,  he  could  not  applaud  them  for 
a  thing  which  in  general  estimation  was  not  highly 
reputable.     Addressing  himself  to  Britain,  — 

"  Thy  favorites  grow  not  up  by  fortune's  sport, 
Or  from  the  crimes  or  follies  of  a  court. 
On  the  firm  basis  of  desert  they  rise. 
From  long-tried  faith,  and  friendship's  holy  ties." 

The  Whigs  of  those  days  believed  that  the  only 
proper  method  of  rising  into  power  was  through  hard 
essays  of  practised  friendship  and  experimented  fidel- 
ity. At  that  time  it  was  not  imagined,  that  patriot- 
ism was  a  bloody  idol,  which  required  the  sacrifice  of 
children  and  parents,  or  dearest  connections  in  pri- 
vate life,  and  of  all  the  virtues  that  rise  from  those 
relations.  They  were  not  of  that  ingenious  paradox- 
ical morality,  to  imagine  that  a  spirit  of  moderation 
was  properly  shown  in  patiently  bearing  the  suffer- 
ings of  your  friends  ;  or  that  disinterestedness  was 
clearly  manifested  at  the  expense  of  other  people's 
fortune.  They  believed  that  no  men  could  act  with 
effect,  who  did  not  act  in  concert ;  that  no  men  could 
act  in  concert,  who  did  not  act  with  confidence  ;  that 
no  men  could  act  with  confidence,  who  were  not 
bound  together  by  common  opinions,  common  affec- 
tions, and  common  interests. 

VOL.  1.  34 


530  THOUGHTS   ON    THE   CAUSE 

These  "wise  men,  for  such  I  must  call  Lord  Sunder- 
land, Lord  Godolphin,  Lord  Somers,  and  Lord  Marl- 
borough, were  too  well  principled  in  these  maxims 
upon  which  the  whole  fabric  of  public  streijgth  is 
built,  to  be  blown  off  their  ground  by  the  breath  of 
every  childish  talker.  They  were  not  afraid  that 
they  should  be  called  an  ambitious  junto  ;  or  that 
their  resolution  to  stand  or  fall  together  should,  by 
placemen,  be  interpreted  into  a  scuflfle  for  places. 

Party  is  a  body  of  men  united  for  promoting  by 
their  joint  endeavors  the  national  interest  upon  some 
particular  principle  in  which  they  are  all  agreed. 
For  my  part,  I  find  it  impossible  to  conceive,  that 
any  one  believes  in  his  own  politics,  or  thinks  them 
to  be  of  any  weight,  wlio  refuses  to  adopt  the  means 
of  having  them  reduced  into  practice.  It  is  the  busi 
ness  of  the  speculative  philosopher  to  mark  the  proper 
ends  of  government.  It  is  the  business  of  the  poli- 
tician, who  is  the  philosopher  in  action,  to  find  out 
proper  means  towards  those  ends,  and  to  employ 
them  with  effect.  Therefore  every  honorable  con- 
nection will  avow  it  is  their  first  purpose,  to  pursue 
every  just  method  to  put  the  men  who  hold  their 
opinions  into  such  a  condition  as  may  enable  thom  to 
carry  tlicir  common  plans  into  execution,  with  all  the 
power  and  authority  of  the  state.  As  this  power  is 
attached  to  certain  situations,  it  is  their  duty  to  con- 
tend for  these  situations.  Without  a  proscription  of 
others,  they  are  bound  to  give  to  their  own  party  the 
preference  in  all  things ;  and  by  no  means,  for  pri- 
vate considerations,  to  accept  any  offers  of  power  in 
which  the  whole  body  is  not  included  ;  nor  to  suffer 
th(!insnlvcs  to  be  led,  or  to  be  controlled,  or  to  be 
ovcrl)alancod,  in  office  or  in  council,  by  those  who 


OP  THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  631 

contradict  the  very  fundamental  principles  on  which 
their  party  is  formed,  and  even  those  npon  which 
every  fair  connection  must  stand.  Such  a  generous 
contention  for  power,  on  such  manly  and  honorable 
maxims,  will  easily  be  distinguished  from  the  mean 
and  interested  struggle  for  place  and  emolument. 
The  very  style  of  such  persons  will  serve  to  discrim- 
inate them  from  those  numberless  impostors,  who 
have  deluded  the  ignorant  with  professions  incompat- 
ible with  human  practice,  and  have  afterwards  in- 
censed them  by  practices  below  the  level  of  vulgar 
rectitude. 

It  is  an  advantage  to  all  narrow  wisdom  and  nar- 
row morals,  that  their  maxims  have  a  plausible  air : 
and,  on  a  cursory  view,  appear  equal  to  first  princi- 
ples. They  are  light  and  portable.  They  are  as  cur- 
rent as  copper  coin  ;  and  about  as  valuable.  They 
serve  equally  the  first  capacities  and  the  lowest ;  and 
they  are,  at  least,  as  useful  to  the  worst  men  as  to  the 
best^  Of  this  stamp  is  the  cant  of  Not  men,  hut  meas- 
ures ;  a  sort  of  charm  by  which  many  people  get  loose 
from  every  honorable  engagement.  When  I  see  a 
man  acting  this  desultory  and  disconnected  part,  with 
as  much  detriment  to  his  own  fortune  as  prejudice  to 
the  cause  of  any  party,  I  am  not  persuaded  that  he  is 
right ;  but  I  am  ready  to  believe  he  is  in  earnest.  I 
respect  virtue  in  all  its  situations ;  even  when  it  is 
found  in  the  unsuitable  company  of  weakness.  I  la- 
ment to  see  qualities,  rare  and  valuable,  squandered 
away  without  any  public  utility.  But  when  a  gentle- 
man with  great  visible  emoluments  abandons  the 
party  in  which  he  has  long  acted,  and  tells  you,  it  is 
because  he  proceeds  upon  his  own  judgment ;  that  he 
acts  on  the  merits  of  the  several  measures  as  they 


532  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

arise ;  and  that  he  is  obliged  to  follow  his  own  con- 
science, and  not  that  of  others ;  lie  gives  reasons 
which  it  is  impossible  to  controvert,  and  discovers  a 
character  which  it  is  impossible  to  mistake.  What 
shall  we  think  of  him  who  never  differed  from  a  cer- 
tain set  of  men  until  the  moment  they  lost  their 
power,  and  who  never  agreed  with  them  in  a  single 
instance  afterwards  ?  Would  not  such  a  coincidence 
of  interest  and  opinion  be  rather  fortunate  ?  Would 
it  not  be  an  extraordinary  cast  upon  the  dice,  that  a 
man's  connections  should  degenerate  into  faction, 
precisely  at  the  critical  moment  when  they  lose  their 
power,  or  he  accepts  a  place  ?  When  people  desert 
their  connections,  the  desertion  is  a  manifest  fact^ 
upon  which  a  direct  simple  issue  lies,  triable  by  plain 
men.  Whether  a  measure  of  government  be  right  or 
wrong,  is  no  matter  of  fact  ^  but  a  mere  affair  of  opin- 
ion, on  which  men  may,  as  they  do,  dispute  and  wran- 
gle without  end.  But  whether  the  individual  thinks 
the  measure  right  or  wrong,  is  a  point  at  still  a 
greater  distance  from  the  reach  of  all  human  decis- 
ion. It  is  therefore  very  convenient  to  politicians, 
not  to  put  the  judgment  of  their  conduct  on  overt 
acts,  cognizable  in  any  ordinary  court,  but  upon  such 
matter  as  can  be  triable  only  in  that  secret  tribunal, 
where  they  are  sure  of  being  heard  with  favor,  or 
where  at  worst  the  sentence  will  be  only  private  whip- 
ping. 

I  believe  the  reader  would  wisli  to  find  no  sub- 
stance in  a  dociiiiM'  which  lias  w  tendency  to  destroy 
all  test  of  character  as  deduced  from  conduct.  He 
will  tlierefore  excuse  my  adding  something  more, 
towards  Xha  further  clearing  up  a  point,  which  the 
great  convenience  of  obscurity  to  disiionesty  has  been 


OP    THE   PRESENT    DISCONTENTS.  533 

able   to   cover   with   some  degree   of  darkness  and 
doubt. 

In  order  to  throw  an  odium  on  political  connec- 
tion, tliese  politicians  suppose  it  a  necessary  incident 
to  it,  that  you  are  blindly  to  follow  the  opinions  of 
your  party,  when  in  direct  opposition  to  your  own 
clear  ideas ;  a  degree  of  servitude  that  no  worthy 
man  could  bear  tlie  thought  of  submitting  to ;  and 
such  as,  I  believe,  no  connections  (except  some  court 
factions)  ever  could  be  so  senselessly  tyrannical  as  to 
impose.  Men  thinlting  freely,  will,  in  particular  in 
stances,  think  differently.  But  still  as  the  greater 
part  of  the  measures  which  arise  in  the  course  of 
public  business  are  related  to,  or  dependent  on, 
some  great,  leading,  general  principles  in  government,  a 
man  must  be  peculiarly  unfortunate  in  the  choice  of 
his  political  company,  if  he  does  not  agree  with  them 
at  least  nine  times  in  ten.  If  he  does  not  concur  in 
these  general  principles  upon  which  the  party  is 
founded,  and  which  necessarily  draw  on  a  concur- 
rence in  their  application,  he  ought  from  the  begin 
ning  to  have  chosen  some  other,  more  conformable  to 
his  opinions.  When  the  question  is  in  its  nature 
doubtful,  or  not  very  material,  the  modesty  which 
becomes  an  individual,  and,  (in  spite  of  our  court 
moralists)  that  partiality  which  becomes  a  well-chosen 
friendship,  will  frequently  bring  on  an  acquiescence 
in  the  general  sentiment.  Tlius  the  disagreement 
will  naturally  be  rare  ;  it  will  be  only  enough  to  in- 
dulge freedom,  without  violating  concord,  or  disturb- 
ing arrangement.  And  this  is  all  that  ever  was  re- 
quired for  a  character  of  the  greatest  uniformity  and 
steadiness  in  connection,  liow  men  can  proceed  with- 
out any  connection  at  all,  is  to  me  utterly  incompre- 


534  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   CAUSE 

hensible.  Of  what  sort  of  materials  must  that  man 
be  made,  how  must  he  be  tempered  and  put  together, 
who  can  sit  whole  years  in  Parliament,  with  fire  hun- 
dred and  fifty  of  his  fellow-citizens,  amidst  the  storm 
of  such  tempestuous  passions,  in  the  sharp  conflict  of 
so  many  wits,  and  tempers,  and  characters,  in  the 
agitation  of  such  mighty  questions,  in  the  discussion 
of  such  vast  and  ponderous  interests,  without  seeing 
any  one  sort  of  men,  whose  character,  conduct,  or 
disposition,  would  lead  him  to  associate  himself  with 
them,  to  aid  and  be  aided,  in  any  one  system  of  pub- 
lic utility  ? 

I  remember  an  old  scholastic  aphorism,  which  says, 
'  "  that  the  man  who  lives  wholly  detached  from  others, 
J  must  be  either  an  angel  or  a  devil."  When  I  see  in 
any  of  these  detached  gentlemen  of  our  times  the  an- 
gelic purity,  power,  and  beneficence,  I  shall  admit 
them  to  be  angels.  In  the  mean  time  we  are  born 
only  to  be  men.  We  sliall  do  enough  if  we  form  our- 
selves to  be  good  ones.  It  is  tlierefore  our  business 
carefully  to  cultivate  in  our  minds,  to  rear  to  the 
most  perfect  vigor  and  maturity,  every  sort  of  gener- 
ous and  honest  feeling,  tliat  belongs  to  our  nature. 
To  bring  the  dispositions  that  are  lovely  in  private  life 
into  tlie  service  and  conduct  of  tlie  conmionwculth  ; 
so  to  be  patriots,  as  not  to  forget  we  are  gentlemen. 
To  cultivate  friendsliips,  and  to  incur  enmities.  To 
have  both  strong,  but  both  selected  :  in  the  one,  to  be 
phicaI)lo  ;  in  the  otlier  inHnoval)le.  To  model  our 
principles  to  our  duties  and  our  situation.  To  be 
fully  persuaded,  tliat  all  virtue  which  is  impi'ncticable 
is  sj)urious  ;  and  rather  to  run  the  risk  of  falling  into 
faults  in  a  course  which  leads  us  to  act  with  etl'ect 
and  energy,  than  to  loiter  out  our  days  without  blame, 


OF   THE   PRESENT   DISCONTENTS.  635 

and  witliout  use.  Public  life  is  a  situation  of  power 
and  energy  ;  he  trespasses  against  liis  duty  who  sleeps 
upon  his  watch,  as  well  as  he  that  goes  over  to  the 
enemy. 

There  is,  however,  a  time  for  all  things.  It  is  not 
every  conjuncture  which  calls  with  equal  force  upon 
the  activity  of  honest  men  ;  but  critical  exigencies 
now  and  then  arise ;  and  I  am  mistaken,  if  this  be 
not  one  of  them.  Men  will  see  the  necessity  of  hon- 
est combination ;  but  they  may  see  it  when  it  is  too 
late.  They  may  embody,  when  it  will  be  ruinous  to 
themselves,  and  of  no  advantage  to  the  country ; 
when,  for  want  of  such  a  timely  union  as  may  enable 
them  to  oppose  in  favor  of  the  laws,  with  the  laws  on 
their  side,  they  may  at  length  find  themselves  under 
the  necessity  of  conspiring,  instead  of  consulting. 
The  law,  for  which  they  stand,  may  become  a  weapon 
in  the  hands  of  its  bitterest  enemies ;  and  they  will 
be  cast,  at  length,  into  that  miserable  alternative  be- 
tween slavery  and  civil  confusion,  which  no  good 
man  can  look  upon  without  horror  ;  an  alternative  in 
which  it  is  impossible  he  should  take  either  part, 
with  a  conscience  perfectly  at  repose.  To  keep  tliat 
situation  of  guilt  and  remorse  at  the  utmost  distance 
is,  therefore,  our  first  obligation.  Early  activity  may 
prevent  late  and  fruitless  violence.  As  yet  we  work 
in  the  light.  The  scheme  of  the  enemies  of  public 
tranquillity  has  disarranged,  it  has  not  destroyed  us. 

If  the  reader  believes  that  there  really  exists  such 
a  faction  as  I  have  described ;  a  faction  riiling  by  the 
private  inclinations  of  a  court,  against  the  general 
sense  of  the  people ;  and  that  this  faction,  whilst  it 
pursues  a  scheme  for  undermining  all  the  founda- 
tions of  our  freedom,  weakens   (for  the  present  at 


586  THOUGHTS   ON    THE   CAUSE 

least)  all  the  powers  of  executory  government,  ren- 
dering lis  abroad  contemptible,  and  at  home  distract- 
ed ;  he  will  believe  also,  that  nothing  but  a  firm  com- 
bination of  public  men  against  this  body,  and  that, 
too,  supported  by  the  hearty  concurrence  of  the  peo- 
ple at  large,  can  possibly  get  the  better  of  it.  The 
people  will  see  the  necessity  of  restoring  public  men 
to  an  attention  to  the  public  opinion,  and  of  restoring 
the  constitution  to  its  original  principles.  Above  all, 
they  will  endeavor  to  keep  the  House  of  Commons 
from  assuming  a  character  which  does  not  belong  to 
it.  They  will  endeavor  to  keep  that  House,  for  its 
existence,  for  its  powers,  and  its  privileges,  as  inde- 
pendent of  every  other,  and  as  dependent  upon  them- 
selves, as  possible.  This  servitude  is  to  a  House  of 
Commons  (like  obedience  to  the  Divine  law)  "•  per- 
fect freedom."  For  if  they  once  quit  this  natural, 
ratiorial,  and  liberal  obedience,  having  deserted  the 
only  proper  foundation  of  their  power,  they  must 
seek  a  support  in  an  abject  and  unnatural  depend- 
ence somewhere  else.  When,  through  the  medium 
of  this  just  connection  with  their  constituents,  the 
genuine  dignity  of  the  House  of  Commons  is  re- 
stored, it  will  begin  to  think  of  casting  from  it,  with 
scorn,  as  badges  of  servility,  all  the  false  ornaments 
of  illegal  power,  with  which  it  has  been,  for  some 
time,  disgraced.  It  will  begin  to  think  of  its  old  of- 
fice of  Control.  It  will  not  sufier  that  last  of  evils 
to  predominate  in  the  country:  men  without  popnlar 
confidence,  public  ojiiiiion,  natural  connection,  or 
iiuitiKil  trust,  inv(^st('(l  witli  all  the  powers  of  govern- 
nii'iit . 

When   they  ha\c  k-arned    this    lesson  themselves, 
they  will  be  willing  and  able  to  teach  the  court,  that 


OF   THE    PIIESENT    DISCONTENTS.  537 

it  is  the  true  interest  of  tlie  prince  to  have  but  one 
administration  ;  and  that  one  composed  of  those  who 
recommend  themselves  to  their  sovereign  through 
the  opinion  of  their  country,  and  not  by  their  obse- 
quiousness to  a  favorite.  Such  men  will  serve  their 
sovereign  with  affection  and  fidelity ;  because  his 
choice  of  them,  upon  such  principles,  is  a  compliment 
to  their  virtue.  They  will  bo  able  to  serve  him  effect- 
ually ;  because  they  will  add  the  weight  of  the  coun- 
try to  tho  force  of  the  executory  power.  They  will 
be  able  to  serve  their  king  with  dignity ;  because 
they  will  never  abuse  his  name  to  the  gratification  of 
their  private  spleen  or  avarice.  This,  with  allow- 
ances for  human  frailty,  may  probably  be  the  general 
character  of  a  ministry,  which  thinks  itself  accounta- 
ble to  the  House  of  Commons ;  when  the  House  of 
Commons  thinks  itself  accountable  to  its  constituents. 
•If  other  ideas  should  prevail,  things  must  remain  in 
their  present  confusion,  until  they  are  hurried  into 
all  the  rage  of  civil  violence,  or  until  they  sink  into 
the  dead  repose  of  despotism. 


END   OF  VOL.    r. 


y^     rf-^t* 


